


Guide to Action

by Aralas



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Other character: Rumil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29528292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aralas/pseuds/Aralas
Summary: It takes a macabre deal to show one Man the action he should have taken a long time ago. He can only hope he is not too late.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. Caught

**Author's Note:**

> (1) This is a story I wrote many years ago (2005) but am posting it here for the first time. It also appears at another site, but a wee bit of content that is included here was deliberately omitted there because I thought it might have been too explicit for that site (though it is actually pretty tame).
> 
> (2) IMPORTANT: Some ideas in this story were inspired by – and based loosely on – the wonderful "Convictions" written by Peaceangel. They were incorporated with her permission. Where much of the chapter comes from her story, a note is made. However, the plot is very different, as is the ending. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All the characters in this story who are found in Tolkien’s books stem from his imagination and are his property. I am just borrowing them for this story.

**Chapter 1: Caught**

The young man panted as he neared his target, his eyes focused on the legs that would soon be coming into his line of sight.  
A little more. Closer now. Closer. 

With a small cry, he leaped out of the bushes, and a second later, his arms were wrapped around the legs he had been chasing, bringing down his captive. 

“Oof!” went the elf as he fell forward, his breath knocked out of him. Before he could regain his senses, he found himself being flipped over and straddled by the eighteen-year-old human with bright eyes that shifted in hue from blue to grey. 

A wide smile was plastered on the young face as he looked at the captive beneath him, hardly able to contain his excitement. 

“I caught you, Legolas! I caught you!” he declared disbelievingly, his hands fisting the white shirt on the elven torso. 

He had never hoped to match the elven speed of Legolas and his twin foster brothers in open space, but the elf had agreed to let him track him in the woods of Imladris that he knew well, so that he could make use of shortcuts and well-camouflaged ambush points. It would be many years later before he realized how easily Legolas could still have eluded him but did not. For now, however, Estel felt the thrill of a successful capture. 

The elf’s clear laughter floated around in the clearing like music from silver bells. “Aye, Estel, that you did,” he said kindly. “Well done!” 

One long arm reached up to ruffle the unruly dark curls framing the handsome face, and when the long elven fingers brushed Estel’s ears, a tingle went down his spine and he shivered. The young man felt the thrill that always ran through him whenever he was around the elf with the golden hair. 

“It is but a passing fancy,” his foster father had explained when he had first asked the elf lord why he felt that way. “It is natural to be taken with one so attractive, and it will leave you as you grow older.”

Legolas was indeed attractive – stunningly beautiful, in fact – without contention from all who saw him. But what Estel saw in the Mirkwood prince was something beyond his shining countenance; the elf had treated him with greater respect and kindness than anyone he had ever known, except for Lord Elrond. 

Now, as he looked at the bright hair fanned about the beautiful face on the ground, he blushed and cast his eyes away from the elf, loosening his hold on the shirt as well. 

It is just a passing fancy, he told himself desperately. It will be gone when I grow older. 

\---------{{*}}---------

Now, four decades later and forty years older, he found the fancy no closer to passing him by.


	2. The Man who will be King

**Chapter 2: The Man who will be King**

Four decades, I think. Four decades.

With a weary sigh, I lift my eyes to the dark expanse above me. The moon glides slowly across the sky as it has done every night of the past forty years, but how much has changed in that time. 

I have learned that I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to a kingdom I never asked to rule, a kingdom I did not even dream had anything to do with me.

It is a heritage I was curious about at first, then feared, then hated. And now – though I still do not welcome it – I have accepted it. I have no choice, for my people depend on me to deliver them from the looming threat of the Dark Lord. 

My people depend on me. That grim realization will guide my actions from now on.

I have turned from a carefree young man into a man who will one day bear the solemn responsibilities of a king.

That is why I am here, with the Rangers. Living in the Wilds, looking foul, keeping low, staying nameless. We protect this land, our land, my land, in secret. 

That is why my visits to Imladris are now few and far in between. This is now my home. For a while. For a long while. We wait for the day I will reclaim the throne of Gondor and restore it to its rightful bloodline of Numenorean kings. Of which I am the last. Me. 

That is why I need an heir. To carry on the line of kings. 

And that is why I am trying to make myself put aside a love that bloomed in my heart before I was eighteen, waiting for a fancy to pass that I now know will not pass, yet I cannot hold. Not if I have to have an heir. 

My fancy. My beautiful, untouchable fancy.

He sits now with my companions: a lone elf amongst humans. A single, beautiful ray of golden sunshine and silver moonlight in the midst of a fog of pipeweed smoke and a dark tumble of scruffy beards. He has been with us for several months now. He missed my company, he said when he came, and he wished to join me in my clandestine vigilance against the gathering forces of the Dark Lord. 

I thanked the stars then, exhilaration flooding me. My elven prince, come to bestow his company on me, even if it was just in friendship. Just having him around me, close to me, was joy. The shadows of my loneliness fled in the light of his presence. 

Silver laughter tinkles against gruff guffaws as he responds to a joke that has been shared, and I am drawn back to the present. 

I look at him from a distance, from the quiet solitude of a seat beneath a tree, away from the fire, away from the merriment. My eyes travel over the one who holds my heart in his hands and knows not that he does, and I taste bitterness on my tongue again. For the ten thousandth time or more, I ask why Fate has dealt me this agony. Why it has brought to me the only person to whom I wish to give my life and soul, if I cannot give them. 

He senses my eyes on him and he turns to me. His radiant smile lights up the camp more than the dancing flames of the bonfire ever could. 

I ache to touch him. But he does not feel it.

I long to tell him. But he must not hear it. 

He gets up to come to me, and my heart leaps as it always does. 

But a hand stays him, and I stiffen. 

The hand grasps his arm, urging him to sit. He smiles and shakes his head. Several groans come from the men and several more hands reach up to make him stay. One hands him a mug of ale, challenging him in a slurred voice to drink. He hates it, but he is too polite to refuse. He does not want them to think that he sees himself above their station, he once told me. 

The men are tipsy, having allowed themselves the indulgence of a tankard after the hard day they have had. We ran into a fierce band of orcs this morning. Dismayed to find them so far north, we fought hard to finish them off – every single one – so that none would live to reveal our identities and location. We sustained no fatal injuries, but the men are weary, and Legolas knows it. 

He seats himself again, throwing me a look of resignation. I smile briefly, amused, but am proud of his willingness to indulge my companions. I know they, too, gain pleasure from simply looking at so fair a countenance in a rough wilderness. 

I see him grimace at the first sip and chuckle when he forces himself to down the whole mug. The men clap him on the back and hand him another. He obliges them again, a third time and fourth, and the whole group is laughing now in drunken delight. 

I do not know if it is that the elf prince is not used to anything other than the fine wines of his father’s palace, or that he simply cannot hold too much strong drink, but he is beginning to look lightheaded. He does not sit as straight as he usually does, and his cheeks are more flushed than they were a while ago. 

He refuses another mug that is held out to him, pushing it away weakly, and tries to stand. He seems a little unsteady, and I smile in amusement. I can imagine how embarrassed he will feel later. 

Hands reach out for him again but he tries to walk away and stumbles. Someone stands quickly and catches him, laughing and saying “Whoa!” Another quickly joins them, putting his arm around the elf, and I stiffen again. Legolas’ head drops forward, his unbraided hair falling over his face like a golden curtain, and the arms of a Ranger readily receive him. 

I am up in an instant as an unreasonable anger stirs in me, and I am at his side in fewer strides than I thought would take me to get there. 

“I will take him,” I say, pushing away the arms of my Ranger companions from around the elven body, surprising them a little. I hesitate as I notice their wonder, but when Legolas gives a soft, silly laugh and asks “Wh… where are we… going?” I take him firmly from them, draping one of his arms around my neck and holding him up with my own arm around his slender waist. He is drunk from the ale, but it is his clean woodland scent that intoxicates me. 

“You are going to bed, Elf,” I say in gentle admonishment, and when he drops his head onto my shoulder and leans into me, I am reminded that the thrill of his touch which sent shivers down my spine forty years ago still has the same effect on me today, and I wish the whole world would melt away and leave us alone. 

Then I remember who I am, and the destiny I cannot deny.

I rest my cheek against the smooth, fragrant skin of the elven forehead and tell myself to wait another decade, and another, and another… for the fancy to pass.


	3. Unspoken Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Parts of this story are based on the LOTR movies.)

**Chapter 3: Unspoken Thoughts**

Aragorn – Estel – has to be eighty by now, yet he does look a day over forty-five. He sits with quiet confidence that speaks loudly to everyone, so that everyone looks at him. They see the shadow of wistfulness in his face, they admire his dark good looks, and some wonder who he is. 

He was the teenage child I knew and held when he laughed and cried and grew angry. He was the young boy who, I knew, desired my attention, my affection, my love. 

But he is now a man. A man among men, a man above them, full of quiet authority and a strong awareness of who he is and what he has to fight for: the future of Middle-earth. 

Sitting facing each other at the Council of Elrond, we exchange looks, unsmiling. The matters being discussed are serious, and they involve him: the One Ring and the Dark Lord, and the Quest that will ascertain the fate of Middle-earth, and determine whether Aragorn’s destiny will be fulfilled. 

My heart swells with pride when he speaks firmly to Boromir, telling him the Ring should not be taken lightly, that it cannot be wielded by anyone save the Dark Lord, that none of us should even attempt to. I am so proud of him, though he does not know it.

Anger grips me when the man of Gondor dishonors him and questions his background. “And what would a Ranger know of this matter?” he challenges Aragorn. 

“This is no mere Ranger,” I protest, standing and facing the tall Gondorian. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.” I say this softly but clearly, so that he makes no mistake about that fact.

The man turns to Aragorn, who tenses. “This… is Isildur’s heir?” the man voices his doubt contemptuously. 

“And heir to the throne of Gondor,” I confirm before I can stop myself. If looks could kindle fire, my eyes would burn him. 

Aragorn – my Estel – looks a little uncomfortable. “Havo dad, Legolas,” he tells me to sit. His tone is both gentle and firm. 

I look at him, and I do as he asks, seating myself again slowly. And as I do so, I feel a little stunned, a little disbelieving. 

Since when did I – an elf who is older than he is by more than a millennium – do his bidding so readily? 

It is now that the thought hits me, although it has been there these past decades. I shiver a little, feeling his silent power, and I cast my eyes to the ground, trying to come to terms with my realization. 

For it is now that I know: Aragorn may not yet be crowned, but he is already my king. He already commands me even though no orders come from him. And I am ready to follow him into the fires of Mordor and beyond if he so asks. 

I raise my eyes, and find him looking at me. I cannot read the emotions in his eyes. But I know I love him, though he does not know it. 

I also feel frightened for him, and I wish to remain near him, lending him what support I can, till he is crowned King of Gondor. And as soon as he swears to protect the hobbit Frodo with his sword, I offer my bow. I go on this Quest as much for him as for Frodo, though he does not know. 

Do you need me as you once did, Estel? Do you seek my affection as you did so many years ago? Ah, it does not matter. I will be there for you. 

He turns to me again.

I see him standing tall and straight – a reluctant king unable to hide his regal bearing. A strange sadness assails me, and tears well in my eyes, dangerously close to falling. I close my eyes to hide the ache in them.

My Estel.

He was my Estel. 

But I do not see how he would ever want to be my Aragorn.

\------------{{*}}-------------- 

_Legolas, Legolas… keeper of my heart. I see tears in your beautiful eyes, and I do not know why you weep._

_I only know that seven decades have now passed since I first felt I loved you. Yet, still… I have not changed my mind._

_I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn._

_But - I wish I could tell you this - I am still Estel. Your Estel._

_And each day I ask myself if I will have the courage to be what I wish to be: your Aragorn._

_Perhaps this Quest will tell. ___


	4. Choices and Loss

**Chapter 4: Choices and Loss**

Aragorn sat holding his head in his hands, his dark hair clutched in his calloused fingers. He did not think he could feel so much fear. So much despair. And he could not remember a time when his strength and courage had been so greatly challenged.

Gandalf was gone. He had fallen to the deviousness of the Balrog in some, dark, nameless abyss of Moria. Without the mighty Maia, leader of the Fellowship of Nine, what hope did they have now to continue with the Quest to destroy the Ring?

The wizard had told him to lead the others on, so after the initial shock, he had done so. He had shaken everyone else out of their frozen stupor. Even Legolas had been confused and utterly dazed, the look on his face silently screaming: “It cannot be! I cannot believe Gandalf is gone!” 

But the Maia was gone, leaving a shaken Ranger to harden his heart and lead the remaining members of the Fellowship to the elven refuge of Lothlorien, where the elf queen Galadriel had read all their thoughts – seeking their innermost feelings and sowing words of comfort in their hearts. 

Lothlorien was a different world within the World. Here, where Aragorn now sat on the fallen leaves beneath a tall _mallorn_ at dusk, in the midst of the sounds of night creatures just coming out from their homes, he found some measure of peace and healing. Here, perhaps the waters of the stream before him could wash away the horror he had felt at Gandalf’s demise. Here, perhaps he could find strength enough to leave the safety of Lothlorien and continue with the Quest and not abandon it. 

A tear rolled down his cheek in the deep blue darkness. Then another, and another. That is why he came here, to be alone, so that no one would see him weep his tears of despair. 

Alone. He felt so alone, with no one to guide him on a certain path, and no one to hold in his cold dread. He was going to be the King of Men, but right now, he needed some warm, loving arms. Frodo was still in a state of shock himself, Sam was too worried about Frodo to care about anyone else, Pippin and Merry would try to make him laugh – and they would fail miserably, Boromir he could not trust, Gimli was too gruff, and he would not find comfort in gruffness this night. 

At one point in the past decades, he had met and developed an affection for Arwen Undomiel, beautiful Evenstar of her people, his foster sister – the most likely person he would wed to make his Queen so that he could procure heirs. But even her presence was not what he wished for tonight. 

For, deep in his heart, there was only one person he longed to hold at a time like this, when he was most vulnerable, stripped bare of the strength he armored himself with. He longed for that presence with every fiber of his being – but he did not even know if he could speak of it, let alone show it, or ask for it. In sorrow did he break into sobs, releasing his pent-up feelings of loss and loneliness and dread. As he wept, even the trees seemed to hush, and the stream grew quieter.

Then, as if in answer to some silent plea from his heart, it was as if a ray of moonlight shone on him. Loving arms wrapped gently around his frame and a warmth settled next to him, drawing him into its embrace. A fair voice whispered into his ear: “Weep if you wish to, Estel. I will catch your tears,” and Aragorn knew who it was even without looking up, for he would know the scent of the speaker anywhere, and no other presence could make him shiver as this one could. And he felt incredulous that the very person he had wished for had come to him. 

With Legolas’ arms around him, Aragorn felt once more like the young boy he had been in Imladris, the boy whose hurts and embarrassments the elf had often soothed, whose pride the elf had always handled with care. He raised his head and looked into the blue eyes he had known since the days of his youth. They were stunning even in the twilight, and they were full of understanding, warmth and love. And he imagined that they also held the same longing he felt. 

Aragorn let go of any stoicism he still had in him. He felt he had no need to feign courage with Legolas. He released the tense hold he had had on his mind and his feelings, and melted into the elf’s embrace. Whether or not he would ever be able to have the elf as he desired, he was glad to have him close for the moment, to be in his arms, to feel his comfort. 

Legolas smiled at him and Aragorn thought he would die just from the beauty of it. He felt some of his fear melting away in the warmth of that smile.

“You do not have to fear, Estel,” said the elf consolingly, though a note of sadness resided in his voice. “We are with you.” 

“For how long, Legolas?” the man asked sadly. “I have already lost one good friend. How long will the Fellowship hold together?” 

Legolas looked away. “I cannot tell. I am no seer.” 

A sudden wave of anxiety washed over Aragorn. “How long will _you_ be with me?” he asked, unable to hide his emotions. 

Legolas turned back and caught the look of woe in the man’s moist eyes. He placed his forehead against Aragorn’s and whispered: “Till the end, _mellon nin_ , till you are king.” _And however long you wish me to be with you_ , he added silently, though he felt he could not say it. 

Aragorn felt heat course through him at being this close to the elf of his dreams, the tips of their noses touching, and when Legolas’ warm breath flowed across his lips, he moaned and shivered again. But emotions and want warred with a warning within Aragorn, and he struggled to keep a rein on what his body wished to do. 

_You cannot have this_ , he told himself. _What will happen? Would he even want you?_

Aragorn’s mind whirled madly from the conflict, but when Legolas began to draw away from him, he felt a sudden and alarming sense of loss, and before he could stop himself, one of his hands wove its fingers through the silky hair at the back of the elf’s head and brought their foreheads together again. 

Surprised, but without pulling away, Legolas asked worriedly: “Estel?”

Aragorn remained mute, frustrated by all he was feeling. His hands fisted, trying to make him push himself away from the elf, but he could not bring himself to break the contact. 

“Estel?” Legolas asked again, rubbing the man’s back. “What is wrong, _mellon nin_?” 

_Wrong? I know not if this is wrong_ , the man answered silently, _but this is the only thing that feels right. You and me here. I feel I belong with you._

Unable to speak, and driven by the fire in his veins, Aragorn responded by tilting his head and placing a feather-light kiss on the corner of the elf’s lips, uncertain whether to go any further. 

Legolas was the one who felt both fire and ice now. “Estel…” he began again, hardly believing what was happening. His hands tightened on the back of the man’s tunic. 

Aragorn tilted his head again to gently kiss the other corner of the elven mouth. Finding no objection, he let the tip of his tongue brush lightly along Legolas’ lower lip, eliciting a moan from the elf.

Aragorn reached up to trace a finger along the smooth elven cheek, his blue-grey eyes filled now with unmistakable longing. 

“Legolas…” he said in a voice raspy with desire, and when he looked into the elven eyes and saw – or thought he saw – the same longing there, he was lost. Swiftly, he captured the elf’s lips with his own, giving in to the desire he had been holding in check for more than seventy years. The first taste of the soft lips that had smiled so beautifully for him through the decades was incredible, sweeter than he had ever imagined, and it felt so wonderful to finally possess them that Aragorn’s heart overflowed with ecstasy, and he wept. Through the tears that leaked from his eyes, Aragorn savored the elven mouth hungrily with his own lips, teeth and tongue, not letting go of it for even a second. He buried his hands in the golden hair, pulling them both even deeper into the kiss. 

Legolas found himself sobbing as well at the sensations assailing him as they kissed, and his arms tightened around the man he had loved in secret for so long. There was no need for words as they consumed each other’s mouths, breathing heavily. Aragorn suddenly broke off the kiss, causing the elf to give a little whimper of disappointment. But the next instant, Legolas’ veins went on fire again when the man pressed his nose and lips against the sensitive spot under the elf’s ear, both inhaling the sweet scent of the elf and sucking on the skin. 

Legolas drew a breath in startled pleasure, losing all sense and reason at the feeling of Aragorn’s teeth and tongue against his skin as they sucked and nipped gently along his neck. Little moans of pleasure left his mouth when one of Aragorn’s hands massaged the back of his neck, and the other traveled down his chest to his stomach, then went lower to feel the elf’s arousal. 

At the gasp from the elf, Aragorn’s attention returned swiftly to the elven mouth, seizing it and cutting off the moans. He devoured the lips again and again, almost desperately, wondering that anything could taste so delicious, and why he had waited so long to claim them. 

“Legolas… oh Valar…” he mumbled against the lips, then plundered the sweetness of the elf’s mouth with his tongue, tasting and wanting more and more. 

His hands that were fisted in the elf’s hair now moved to the laces of Legolas’ shirt, tugging at them impatiently. With shaking fingers, he began to undo them, but stopped when Legolas suddenly began to exert pressure on his mouth, greedily relishing his lips, exploring what lay beyond. The elven hands kneaded Aragorn’s flesh through the fabric of the tunic, and Aragorn thought he would disintegrate from the heat of the touch. 

Remembering what they had started to do, the man’s fingers went back to unlacing the shirt, and the blind clumsy effort paid off when the smooth skin of the elf’s chest was exposed to the searching hands. Both of them moaned at the contact, and Legolas’ mouth lost Aragorn’s lips for the second time when the man wrapped his arms around the elf’s waist and quickly dropped his head to one of the inviting pink nipples to suck on it. 

Legolas gasped in shock and pleasure, and grabbed Aragorn’s hair in both fists, murmuring his name. He was floundering on a tempestuous sea of desire and he could only let the tide pull him where it would. 

“Estel, Aragorn… I never knew… I never knew…” he said helplessly and in awe.

Aragorn himself felt lost on the same sea, buoyed on the waves of a passion bottled up for too long. The feel of the elf was all that filled his mind, and for tonight he wanted to forget the past, the present, the future…

_The future._

The thought hit him mercilessly just as he was moving his lips across the porcelain skin of the elf’s chest.

_His future, the future of Gondor._

He abruptly lifted his head, cursing the cruel reminder of who he was and the choices he had to make. Panting heavily and hissing in frustration, he retracted his hands from the elf’s body and looked up into the blue eyes in an agony of denial, finding them looking back at him in confusion.

They stared at each other for a long moment, still breathing from a passion unfulfilled. 

“Estel,” Legolas said at last. “Why… what…?” 

“Legolas, forgive me, forgive me,” Aragorn replied, clutching the elf’s arms. 

“It is all right, Estel,” the elf replied. “I did not know, but I know now. It is all right.” 

“No, it is not!” the man protested, lowering his head. “There are – there are so many things to consider…” He raised his head again and Legolas saw the torment in his eyes, eyes that were pleading with the elf to understand. “There is Gondor…”

Legolas looked at him a moment, then nodded sadly, letting out a long sigh. His long lashes closed over blue eyes filled with pain. They sat in silence for some time, each trying to come to terms with what they felt their responsibilities to be, each trying to put into words what they felt. 

Then Legolas stirred and got on his knees as if to leave, and the movement cut Aragorn’s heart like a knife. He grabbed the elf’s hands to stay him, and found them holding his back in a warm gesture. 

“Estel,” Legolas said, breaking the silence and smiling through moist eyes. “I have lived a long, long time. And…” He paused as he struggled with his words. “You know that elves mate only once in their lifetime.” 

Aragorn remained mute, waiting anxiously to hear what the elf was going to say. 

“I have never mated,” Legolas declared, “for I had never found the right person to whom I wished to give my heart and soul and body.” Aragorn waited tensely. “Till you came into my life.” 

Aragorn released a long breath, again feeling the keen sorrow he felt each time he thought about what his future compelled him to give up.

“You would have been my chosen mate,” Legolas continued, his voice breaking a little. “But your choice is different, and I will accept that.” 

Aragorn sighed again in great sorrow. _You would have been my chosen, too, Legolas,_ he thought. _I chose you when I was but eighteen years old. But Gondor demands that I choose someone else._

There was no point telling Legolas all this, he thought. It would be unfair on him; he would be better off finding someone else, though it would almost kill him to see the elf bonded with some other person.

“Find another,” Aragorn forced himself to say, and he almost regretted it when he saw the rejection in the blue eyes. “But remain my friend.” 

Legolas reached a hand up to the man’s face, stroking it gently, perhaps for the last time, he thought sadly, for he would have to belong to another. 

“I will always be your friend, I will always support you,” he promised. The blue eyes bored into Aragorn’s own tearful ones, and what he said next shattered the heart of the man: “I understand, Estel, I understand. You are now Aragorn.” 

When the elf got up and withdrew his hands from Aragorn’s, the man felt keenly the loss of the touch he had just found and claimed after so many decades, and he wept anew at the thought that he had not only lost his wizard guide and his mentor, but also the heart of the only person he had ever truly loved. 

As he watched Legolas walk away, for the first time since he learned of his hertiage, he began to question bitterly whether Gondor really needed an heir from him, whether his bloodline truly really needed to dictate his choices.


	5. Moving On

**Chapter 5: Moving On**

The moon rose and fell many times in Lothlorien, till the Fellowship of eight lost track of the time they had spent in the elven refuge, for such was the magic of the place that when one was in it, one felt as if one was living in a different place and time away from Middle-earth. 

The days and nights passed more gladly for some than for others. All received rest and healing in the peaceful realm, the borders of which were well protected by the watchful guards of Celeborn and Galadriel, but there were also hearts in silent turmoil for different reasons. 

The hobbits Frodo and Sam were loath to leave the place, ever aware of the heavy task that lay ahead, while Boromir, man of Gondor, was impatient to do so and return to his city of Minas Tirith where his father was Steward. Pippin and Merry were enjoying themselves, but wished they could be back in the Shire. Gimli the dwarf still felt a little uncomfortable among so many elves despite his sudden affection for the elf queen who had shown him kindness at their arrival. 

Aragorn was also heavy of heart – both because of the coming departure from Lothlorien, which must surely take place, and because of what had happened between him and Legolas that night. He still felt the sharp pain of having declared his feelings to the one he loved and having had to stop it from going further at the same time. He felt he had hurt them both, and he was bearing the agony of it alone. 

They had not talked much after that night, for Legolas had taken to going away for much of the time with the elves of the Galadhrim, joining them on their watch at the borders. He often brought Gimli with him, for his kind heart took pity on the dwarf, and a great friendship developed between them. His own friendship with Aragorn remained, as he had promised, for he would sometimes return to the pavilion set aside for the Fellowship, to eat with them, but he did not spend any more nights there, and Aragorn knew that it was for both their sakes, for it would have been hard to face each other, knowing all that had transpired. 

Aragorn could imagine how Legolas was hurting, for he felt the same misery. He could not forget all the happy years he and the elf had been close in Imladris and during the earlier days of his Ranger activities. Neither had known then about how the other felt, nothing was said, but they were both happy and content to be with each other. 

_Perhaps I should have kept it that way_ , he thought. _Said nothing, done nothing. Then all would have been well. All would have gone on as before._

But for how long, he wondered. He had waited seven decades for the ‘passing fancy’ to go away. It had not only stayed but grown stronger. It was only a matter of time before the truth was revealed, and now it had. To no happy end, he lamented. Still, perhaps it had been worth it, if only to know that Legolas apparently felt the same way, although there was no way of knowing just how far the elf’s love went – there had been no chance to find out.

_Love?_ A doubt went through Aragorn’s mind. _Does Legolas love me? Or was he merely responding to what I did?_

He sighed miserably. _What does it matter? Whether or not I have his heart, I cannot have him anyway. I have little choice but to do what is best for Gondor._

And so Aragorn suffered alone, sitting by himself and mulling over a future over which he did not seem to have much control. 

“What is bothering you?” a voice broke into the man’s thoughts one day. 

Startled, Aragorn turned around to find two hobbits looking at him curiously.

“Why are you sitting here moping in this amazing place?” Pippin asked, seating himself next to the man, his face showing his disapproval. 

“Pippin!” Merry admonished, before turning to Aragorn. “Excuse us, Strider,” he said, addressing the Ranger by the name he was called by the townspeople of Bree. “We don’t mean to be rude, although Pippin seems to be doing a good job of disproving that.” He sent a glare in his cousin’s direction.

Aragorn smiled despite his misery. The two hobbits always amused him and the others no matter where they were.

“I was merely pondering our situation, my friends,” he replied. “With Gandalf gone, I have no clear direction of the route we should take when we leave, and how best to… to complete our task.” 

At the mention of leaving, a frown crossed the faces of the two hobbits. 

“Must we leave soon?” Pippin asked in a plaintive voice.

“I’m afraid we must at some point,” Aragorn replied. “The Ring is safe here for the time being, but we cannot hide here forever, much as we would like to.” 

Pippin nodded, dejection and resignation clearly written on his face. The three companions sat in silence for a while, and Aragorn’s eyes took on a faraway expression again.

“Yes, things cannot remain hidden forever,” Merry said pointedly, looking at Aragorn. “And we have to act before it’s too late.”

Pippin nodded again, not looking up, but Aragorn’s head whipped around and his eyes locked with Merry’s. Something in the hobbit’s tone hinted at a meaning that lay beyond their earlier reference to the Quest.

“Isn’t that right, Strider?” the hobbit asked, a knowing, cheeky smile lighting his face. “We sit here brooding over a matter we can do something about, instead of tackling the problem.” 

Aragorn stared at him. Was he talking about the Quest, or –? 

“Oh, don’t give him grief over it, Merry!” Pippin scolded his cousin. “It cannot be easy to figure out what to do next.” 

“That is true, some decisions are difficult to make,” Merry conceded, still holding Aragorn’s gaze. “But some solutions seem plain enough to everyone else except the people who should make them.” He winked at the man, making him fidget.

Aragorn cleared his throat. _Could he mean – ?_

“What is so plain?” Pip demanded. “One wrong step, and the Ring falls into the wrong hands! Even I know that, and I’m supposed to be the naïve one!” 

Merry grunted in exasperation. “We are not talking about the Ring, Pip!” he retorted before looking pointedly at Aragorn again. “That is not the only thing of value in this Fellowship. There are other treasures – perhaps newly discovered – that are worth saving.”

“Huh? Then what – ?” the younger hobbit asked in confusion.

Aragorn caught Merry’s meaning and – to his own surprise – found himself blushing. 

“Is it that obvious?” he asked quietly.

“To all who have eyes,” Merry answered, laughing a little. “Maybe not this little Pipsqueak here, but everyone else. Even Gandalf…” his voice hushed a little at the reminder of the wizard’s demise, but he quickly overcame the grief of the memory, and continued. “Gandalf thought so, too.” 

Aragorn’s mouth fell open, and when he saw the mirth in the hobbit’s eyes, he blushed again and looked at the ground, wondering how fast he could dig a hole to escape the scrutiny of the hobbit. 

“What? What are you talking about?” Pippin asked, annoyed at having been left out of some matter everyone else apparently knew about. He looked from his cousin to the man. “Strider?”

“Nothing we should be discussing here,” Aragorn stated, meeting Merry’s eyes again. “Some problems are not as easily solved as others.” His tone grew a little harder. “There are many factors to consider.” 

Merry was not intimidated by the man’s dark expression. “Oh, I don’t doubt that, Strider,” he agreed, “but are those factors truly as important as you think?” He shrugged his shoulders. “But what do I know?” he continued, rising from his seat on the grass and assuming a cheeky grin. “I am just a hobbit, and such matters are beyond me!” 

“Huh?” Pippin asked, knitting his eyebrows in incomprehension. “Wait! What am I missing here?” 

“What you are missing, Peregrin Took, is your second breakfast,” Merry answered teasingly. “Or you will, if we continue to sit here.” He tugged at Pippin’s elbow, making the latter get to his feet. “Come on, let’s leave Strider alone. I’m sure he has much to mull over.” 

Merry winked at the Ranger and moved away, dragging a reluctant and loudly protesting fellow hobbit with him. 

Aragorn stared at the retreating figures, uncertain whether to be angry or amused. He felt a little embarrassed by what Merry had told him. How could he look everyone in the eye again after this? To think that they had all been silently observing him and Legolas… 

And what right did the hobbit have to suggest that there could be an easy solution for them? He would give anything, do anything within his power to be with the elf he had loved for so long – but the future of Gondor was not his to give. 

Aragorn shivered. Just the thought of Legolas – and their first kiss that night – was enough to make him lose his mind. The memory of that exquisite kiss had filled Aragorn’s waking and sleeping moments for all the days and nights that followed. The man could not forget the intoxicating taste of the elven lips, the silk of the elven skin and hair, the enticing nipple that had coaxed his tongue to abandon all control…

The man moaned and fisted his hands. He wanted so badly to touch Legolas again that it hurt. But the elf now seemed so unreachable. Where was he? What was he doing each day? Aragorn was left to wonder miserably. 

\---------{{*}}-------------- 

On the borders of Lothlorien, Legolas sat in the branches of a tall _mallorn_ , from which which he could – if he strained his far-seeing eyes – catch a glimpse of the glow from the hated Mountain of Fire: a grim reminder of the Quest awaiting to be resumed. It was also a reminder of the power of the Dark Lord, and the mission Aragorn had been assigned with since the day he was born: to reclaim Gondor. It was the mission that kept them apart.

Gimli sat beneath the tree, smoking his pipe and feeling comfortable in the moments of silence that he and Legolas were allowing each other. Over the past few days, the dwarf had noticed the elf withdraw into himself a little, and had questioned him about it until the elf had had no choice but to admit what was in his heart. Legolas – to his own unceasing puzzlement – had found himself telling an unlikely friend, a dwarf, his innermost feelings about Aragorn, and about the surprising revelation of the man’s desire for him. 

“But if you tell anyone else about this, Gimli, or if Aragorn himself finds out that you know,” Legolas had warned, “I will kill you.” The look in his eyes had confirmed his intention to carry out his threat, but the dwarf had merely shrugged.

“My lips are sealed,” he had replied nonchalantly, “but you will find most of our companions less blind than you think we are.” The dwarf had hidden the smug he felt at the elf’s shocked discomfiture. “If you and he are fool enough to give up what could be a good thing – that’s your choice.” Then he had chosen to ignore the glare the elven eyes shot his way, and had gone back to annoying the elf with his smoke rings.

The smoke from Gimli’s pipe at the foot of the tree reached Legolas’ sensitive nose now, and the elf smiled at that memory of their conversation; thankfully, he had had no reason to kill his friend yet. 

“You wear it like a cloak,” a fair voice, speaking in Sindarin, snapped him out of his thoughts, and an elf with golden hair like his own, stepped nimbly on to the branch in from of him. “It is testimony to how deep in thought you were – to have not noticed my approach.” 

“ _Mae govannen_ , Rumil,” Legolas greeted the brother of the Marchwarden Haldir. Rumil had been one of the elves who had guided the Fellowship into the Hidden Realm when they first arrived at its borders. Rumil lowered himself gracefully on to the branch and sat so that he faced Legolas, who looked at him quizzically. 

“What do I wear like a cloak?” Legolas asked. He had developed a comfortable closeness to the elf over the past weeks, drawing pleasure from the warm laughs and trust they shared as they patrolled Lothlorien’s borders. 

Rumil did not reply for a while, but looked deep into Legolas’ blue eyes with his own light brown ones. Then a gentle smile graced the Lorien elf’s features. 

“You are fond of the _adan, mellon nin_ ,” he said quietly. “But you cannot pursue that road. The unhappiness envelops you.” 

Legolas felt color creep into his fair cheeks, and he lowered his eyes. “Is it written so clearly on my face?” he asked shyly.

A soft laugh came from the other elf. “Nay, fair Legolas,” he replied, the smile not leaving his handsome face. “But it is clear to those who care to look.” A slender hand reached up to touch Legolas’ cheek. “And I care.” 

Legolas’ head rose quickly and studied the handsome face before him, not knowing what to say. 

Rumil shook his head and sighed. Several of the Lorien elves – him included – had hoped to be more intimately acquainted with Legolas – due in no small part to the irresistible beauty and pleasant demeanor of the Mirkwood prince – but the prince himself had been graciously untouchable, both in word and deed. 

“I care, Legolas,” he repeated. “I have watched you suffer in silence, but you deserve more. Though you do not speak of it, I know that you and he cannot be, but you can find happiness elsewhere. Will you not let me try?” He ran the back of his hand over the smooth cheek of the Mirkwood elf.

The gentleness of his words and movement stirred something in Legolas’ heart and brought a tear to his eye. He had loved Aragorn for so long, always hoping, yet never expecting… and now Aragorn had made his choice known. He did not hold it against Aragorn in the least – the man was merely doing what he felt to be right, and ironically, this principle was one of the things Legolas loved about the man. 

_How can I hold it against him?_ Legolas said to himself. _He owes me nothing._

And neither did he owe Aragorn anything, he realized, except his loyalty to him as the leader of their Fellowship. 

As Legolas looked at Rumil’s kind face, he wondered: if he could never be with the man, perhaps he should find solace somewhere else, where it would not be wrong for him to be given solace? 

Yet, even as the thought crossed his mind, and much as he feared to admit it, he knew that he still loved the man. 

_A love that has resided in my heart for decades does not depart so quickly_ , he thought sadly. 

But Rumil was a good person, a fine and understanding companion. Yes, his heart was still with Aragorn… but perhaps… perhaps, with time, he could eventually come to see Rumil as more than a friend. 

“Rumil, if you can truly see into my heart, then you will know it still lies elsewhere,” Legolas responded at last. “I cannot see what will happen, and if indeed any change takes place, it… it will take time… and I do not want you to nurture hope where there may be none.” 

Rumil smiled again and nodded, dropping his hand to take hold of Legolas’. “I will wait,” he said simply. 

Legolas could not help noting more irony in the situation. Another wait. He had waited this many years – not that he had done anything about it – but he had waited nevertheless for a man he never had any hope of bonding with. And now he was asking Rumil to wait for him. 

At least they could afford to wait, thanks to their immortality, he thought. It was a good thing, for he wanted to be sure; once he was bonded, he would have no one else. It was at this point that he felt great sorrow for Aragorn, for the man was mortal, and he had to make his choices now. That was why he could not lay any blame on the human, though it tore his own heart apart.

_I have to move on,_ the elf told himself, _not for myself, but to regain my strength for Aragorn’s sake – he will need me on the Quest. I will have to remain whole and calm to lend him support, for the burden will be greatest on him. And if Rumil can help me mend, so be it._

With that, he smiled and opened himself to Rumil’s warmth and companionship, if not yet his love, and he let it heal him for the remainder of his stay in Lothlorien. 

\--------{{*}}------- 

“It is time,” Galadriel told Aragorn as he stood before her several days later. “You will need to leave now, Estel. I wish I could protect the Fellowship and the Ring here for all time, but I cannot. You can tarry no longer.”

Aragorn nodded with a heavy heart, and returned to his companions to inform them that their stay in the safety of Lothlorien was about to end. They had to make preparations to leave, and leave quickly. 

When Legolas received the news, he returned to the pavilion that night, so that the whole group could discuss where to go next, which route to follow to Mordor. His companions were all seated around the fountain when he approached. Aragorn’s heart leapt at the sight of the beautiful elf, and it ached again with longing. But a strange annoyance overcame all those feelings when he caught sight of Rumil walking slightly behind Legolas, a hand on the shoulder of the elf he loved. 

Legolas’ eyes looked for Aragorn and found him, and the warm smile he gave was like a ray of sunshine breaking through dark clouds. The elf looked so… calm, like he had come to terms with… with their earlier turmoil. The man smiled back and nodded, hoping the elf would make his way over and sit next to him. He missed Legolas more than he cared to admit. 

But just as Legolas began to walk in his direction, Gimli called out. “Hoy, Elf, come sit here! I haven’t seen you for a week. Come tell me what foolishness you have been up to.” The hobbits echoed the invitation, and Aragorn wanted to break the dwarf’s neck at that point.

As Legolas laughed and moved towards Gimli, Rumil caught his arm so that Legolas turned back to face him. The soft whispers and smiles they exchanged kindled an insane jealousy within Aragorn that he tried to push down with little success. 

“I will see you soon,” he heard the Lorien elf say to Legolas in Sindarin. The man was glad when Rumil nodded farewell to the group and left.

A few days later, the elves of Lothlorien gave the Fellowship a sad farewell. Galadriel gave the group three boats to bear them down the Anduin River, and presented each of them with a specially selected item. All of them were also given elvish cloaks that she and her maidens had sewn. Aragorn saw Rumil place Legolas’ cloak around his shoulders and fasten the brooch for him, their heads bowed close together. And when the moment came for them to board the boats, the two elves exchanged a close embrace. 

Jealousy flared through Aragorn again at the sight, but it was now tempered with sadness. 

_I have no right to stop him from choosing another,_ he thought, _for it was what I asked him to do._

Aragorn fought hard to control his hurt and distress. Perhaps when he was wed with Arwen, this would all go away, he thought. 

But at the back of his mind, he was not so sure. Through the seventy years he had lived since he first knew Legolas, he had met and become close to many people: elves and elleths, Rangers, and Arwen the Evenstar of her people. But none understood him or moved him as Legolas did. No other could make him feel as frisky as a young colt and as composed as an aged sage at the same time. No one else could inspire him enough to take exciting chances as well as face sobering responsibilities. And certainly, no one could set his veins on fire or fill his heart as the golden elf could. 

Despite his earlier conviction that he was doing the right thing by considering Gondor above his own feelings and that of the elf's, his feelings were now as uncertain as the river journey they were about to make, and as rocky as the rapids of Sarn Gebir they would face.


	6. Battles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Some parts of this story are movie verse, some book canon, and some AU.)

**Chapter 6: Battles**

This was the darkest day so far for the Fellowship of the Ring, Gimli thought as he sat in morose silence at the Rohanian refuge of Helm’s Deep. As he looked out over the plains beyond the strong thick walls of the fortress, he recalled all that had taken place over the last weeks: 

Boromir had gone mad at the end of the journey down the Great River and tried to take the Ring from Frodo. Fearing that more would fall victim to the power of the accursed Ring, the hobbit had fled the Fellowship, intending to go alone into Mordor and hopelessness. His faithful Sam had managed to follow him at the last minute. Then the rest of the group had been attacked by the Uruk Hai and orcs of Saruman – the most powerful of the Wizards, now lost to the greed of the Ring – threatening Middle Earth with yet another potential Dark Master, vying even with Sauron. Pippin and Merry had been captured by the orcs, and Boromir – redeeming himself – had fallen trying to save them. Aragorn, despite not trusting the man earlier, had grieved for him. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli had then gone after the Pippin and Merry – running in pursuit over the vast plains of Rohan with very little rest and food for close to four days. 

The only break in the dark clouds had been their reunion with Gandalf – sent back from the dead to complete his task against Sauron. Together, they had journeyed to Edoras and freed King Theoden from Saruman’s spell over him. But Saruman had attacked again – aiming at the people of Rohan now, and the whole of Edoras had been forced to flee the Golden Hall and make for the strong refuge of Helm’s Deep. Gandalf had not remained long, leaving his friends again to garner forces to aid the attack on Helm’s Deep, which would surely come. 

With Gandalf’s departure, the Fellowship had been sundered yet again, for Pippin and Merry – though escaped from the orcs – were still in Fangorn Forest and away from the company of their friends. Once again, the Three Hunters – Man, Elf, and Dwarf – had been left by themselves.

But that had not been their darkest day, not by far. 

Little had they known that another blow – the worst, and the one that would break Legolas the stoic elf – was yet to come. Little could they foresee that Aragorn, the Hope of Men and the free peoples of Middle-earth, the man that the elven prince had come to love, would be dragged over a cliff by a spooked beast during a sudden warg attack. No one could see how he could have survived that fall, and no one could even see his body below. 

Legolas would have jumped off the cliff in search of the man if Gimli and Theoden had not held him both by might and word, urging him to go on to Helm’s Deep with the rest. 

“You can help the Ranger no longer, but you could help the refugees,” the king of Rohan had insisted, and the elf had allowed himself to be led there in a daze and much to the dwarf’s worry. 

All that soon mattered little to the elf. Back at the fortress, he went from being in a daze to sink into a deep, dark silence like one who walked and moved but no longer lived. He wept long and bitterly, and hunched over in pain, closing his eyes to all. Instead of the radiance that emanated from him as was his elven wont, he seemed to suck light and life out of every stone he touched, every place he crossed, so that he seemed to be collapsing into himself. And always, the silent grief enshrouded him like death. 

Indeed, he seemed liked he was waiting for it. For two whole days and night, no food or drink passed his lips, no air seemed to enter or leave his lungs. He sat still, unmoving, though not dead. Not yet. But there was no doubt that he would have yielded lightly to its call if it had just whispered to him. 

Gimli was at his wit’s end, for the elf would not even let him near. He had spoken but once to him since their return to the fortress, and that in a broken voice that wrenched even the dwarf’s tough heart: 

“If he would but be alive, Gimli, I would ask no more of him,” the elf had said in a weak voice through sobs that would melt even the stone walls themselves. “Even if he belonged to someone else, I wish only that he could return to the living world, for his time was too short, and he was cut down too early and too cruelly.” 

At those words, and unseen by others, the dwarf wept too, for he was certain that he would now lose yet another friend, and then he would truly be alone.

It was at that moment that a commotion was heard in the little square below, at the foot of the main stairs, and Gimli ran to the ramparts to see what was going on. Through the space between two turrets, a sight greeted his eyes that made him question whether they were working. His mouth fell open, and in two seconds, he was racing along a narrow hallway to the main stairs, which he then bounded down as fast as his stout legs could carry him. 

And there, he saw that beyond all hope, Hope was returned to them, and therefore - the dwarf thought with a sudden surge of joy – to his devastated elven friend as well. Bloody and looking like he had been dragged through river mud and thorny weeds, stood a weary Aragorn beside his just-as-weary steed, and one look at the two told all who saw them that they had ridden hard to reach the fortress. 

“You are the luckiest man I ever knew!” Gimli declared before throwing himself against the surprised Ranger and wrapping his arms around the man’s waist, almost knocking him over. In answer to all the questions cast at him by Gimli and the incredulous people of Rohan, Aragorn merely said that he had almost drowned in the river at the foot of the high cliff, but had lived and been carried downstream to the bank, where his horse had aroused him from his faint. 

The man graciously acknowledged the hugs and pats on the back from the throng of people around him, but Gimli could see the Ranger’s eyes roaming the crowd, looking for someone. 

“Who might you be looking for, Aragorn?” the dwarf asked in a low voice, his eyebrows raised meaningfully. 

The man looked at him quickly and cleared his throat. “I must see… I must see the king, for ten thousand orcs of Saruman march this way, and I must give him the bad news,” he stated. 

A look of dismay crossed Gimli’s face. “Aye, that is bad news, and I am sure you will be along to see him soon,” he said, frowning. “But…” the dwarf’s brows rose again, “is there not someone you wish to see before that?” 

Aragorn’s eyes shifted away, but not before Gimli saw them fill with longing. The man wondered how much the dwarf knew, and debated whether to voice the question on his lips. 

“Where is he?” he asked before he could stop himself. “He must be worried, for he… we… we are good friends.” 

Gimli looked at him and shook his head, thinking: You fool. He found it hard to speak all of a sudden, causing Aragorn’s face to pale. 

“Gimli, is he… is he…?” the man asked, feeling weak at the knees. 

“Nay, man, nay,” the dwarf said, annoyance and concern fighting for dominance in his voice. “But ai, Aragorn… he has been close to death… ”

Aragorn sucked in a breath and tensed. “Why? What has assailed him?” he asked in alarm. 

“He has been that way since you… since you fell,” Gimli replied shakily. “He has all but given it to it. He must be up there in that wing.” The dwarf pointed to a part of the fortress that could not be seen from the square, where the elf usually sat forlorn on a balcony overlooking the river. “You cannot see it from here but – ” 

One second later, Aragorn was running despite his weariness. He did not stop to ask anyone anything, nor did he stop in response to those who called his name in disbelief, he merely kept going in the general direction Gimli had pointed, set only on looking upon a face that had played before his eyes even on the brink of death. 

Aragorn came to a staircase leading to what looked like rooms, and ran up in haste. He paused breathlessly at the top of the stairs, wondering where to go, when something seemed to lead him to a room on the right. He pushed the door open and saw only darkness within, save for some sunlight streaming in through an open door. He strode across the room to that spot.

Stopping in his tracks, Aragorn almost ceased to breathe when he saw a figure – thinner than when he last saw it – seated on a stone bench on the balcony. He was hunched forward, and his golden hair, loose of its usually immaculate braids, shielded his face. His whole pose spoke of defeat and despair, and it twisted Aragorn’s heart.

_Legolas…_ the man called silently. 

An exquisite pain flowed through Aragorn’s limbs; to think that the elf had suffered thus… and because of him, if what Gimli said was true.

Breathing heavily and reining in a desire to seize the elf in his arms and never let him go, Aragorn moved quietly to the bench. Straddling the bench and facing the seated figure, he lowered himself slowly so as not to startle him. The man almost wept as he realized how far removed the elf was from the world; were he whole, he would have heard the man’s footsteps long before this. 

At the feel of someone beside him, Legolas lifted his head and turned just as a hand gently lifted the curtain of golden hair aside. Two pairs of eyes widened, and two gasps were heard at the same time: one from the elf as he took in the sight of the intruder and reeled in disbelieving shock from what was before him, the other from Aragorn as he saw a face that was still hauntingly beautiful even in its deathly paleness. 

It both frightened and saddened Aragorn immensely to see the elf thus, and Legolas felt faint as he wondered whether his wish had truly been granted, and whether the man he wanted so much to see again was here, alive, even if a little weak, after thinking about him every single moment for the past two days. 

Aragorn raised his bruised, chafed hands to gently cup the wan, smooth face of the elf, sorrow swimming in his grey-blue eyes as he took in the pallor and tormented expression. Legolas placed his own shaky hand on the side of Aragorn’s face, as if to convince himself that the endearingly mussed dark hair, the rugged handsome face and half-parted lips were all real… then his hand dropped when he felt solid flesh. Aragorn’s heart clenched to see the elf’s pain, and for some moments, neither of them moved, even though everything in Aragorn screamed to take the elf in his arms and rob him of breath with kisses. 

“Legolas, I am so sorry…” the man said at last, holding the face firmly. “If you grieved over my… departure, _saes_ , worry no more. I am here, I am back.” 

Legolas released the long breath he had been holding. 

“You are late,” he found himself saying, choking back a sob, and at that moment, Aragorn caved in.

The man swung his other leg over the bench and half-lifted the light elf onto his lap. He pushed back the golden hair from the thin, beautiful face, looking deeply into the blue eyes rimmed with tears. 

“The thought of you, the image of your face… Legolas… that was what kept me alive, and my horse… and I have to see Theoden… ten thousand… army coming… orcs…” he said incoherently, drowning in the blue pools. “Do not weep, Legolas, oh beautiful Legolas … I wish you could have been spared the ordeal, I wish…” 

The blue eyes closed, and Aragorn kissed each lid lovingly, licking away the salty tears. Another strangled sob escaped the elf’s throat, but the man cut it off as he hungrily seized the elven lips with his own, letting a moan express the pleasure of the contact. As it did the first time, the touch of the elf made him feel both cold and hot, both charged with power and weak beyond words. His fingers threaded themselves through the silky hair as his lips tasted the sweetness of the elven mouth again. And again and again. 

Being in the arms of the man he thought he would see no more, Legolas continued to weep silent tears of gratitude, and he wet both their faces as he returned the Ranger’s impassioned kiss. He sucked on the man’s lower lip and wrapped his arms around the shoulders and chest of the man to pull him closer, afraid to let him go again. 

For long minutes, Man and Elf remained locked in a desperate hold, forgetting everything and everyone, not needing words to say how their separation had hurt them. They let loose almost three days’ worth of pain and sorrow and longing. 

Suddenly, Aragorn winced when the elf’s embrace brushed against some of the bruises and wounds on his upper arms that he had obtained during his fall, and Legolas immediately pulled back and looked worriedly at the injuries. But the pain of the wounds could not overpower the ache in his heart, and the Ranger would not let the elf go. His hands dropped to circle the slender elven waist and pull Legolas back. He moaned when the elf bent his head again to bite on his lip and send the gentle pain straight to his groin, arousing him. With a grunt, he took fierce control of the elf’s mouth again, drinking in the sweetness, the salty tears and the little whimpers. 

“Legolas…” he murmured between kisses, “oh Valar, I have missed you… please be well again… please…” In response, the elf deepened the kiss, using his tongue to show Aragorn just how much strength he would recover now that the Ranger was back.

Almost beyond all sense of awareness, Aragorn’s hands traveled down to the elven thighs, feeling the hardness between them, and knowing that the elf would feel his own as well. As his mouth continued to relish Legolas’ soft lips, his hands kneaded the elven thighs, then moved back up to slip under the tunic and shirt to the smooth elven flesh beneath. The elf squirmed and dug his fingers into the man’s back. He gave a moan that, in itself, was one of the most sensuous things Aragorn had heard. 

But the elf suddenly pulled away, breathing heavily. He looked sadly at Aragorn and saw the questions and desire in the man’s eyes. Exhaling, Legolas quickly held him again in a tight embrace so that he could not see the man’s face. 

“Aragorn,” he said brokenly. “Oh Aragorn, I thank the Valar you are saved. I know not how you survived, but I thank them I could feel your kiss again – ” 

Aragorn smiled and tried to move the elf back so that he could kiss him again, but the elf held him firmly and would not look at him, though it took every painful ounce of resistance he had. Perplexed, Aragorn breathed against the elven ear close to his mouth.

“Legolas, why - ?”

“Aragorn – heir of Isildur – remember your decision,” the elf made himself say through his tears, and felt the man tense. “I begged the Valar for your safe return, that was all I asked, and it has been granted. Now… now I can live again, even if you cannot… we cannot…” 

Still hiding his face from Aragorn, he reached into the pocket of his tunic with one hand and removed something that he clutched tightly in his fist. Easing himself out of the man’s hold and off his lap, he resisted looking at the face he loved, but held his hand out towards him. Aragorn looked at the bent head with furrowed brows, confusion written on his face. 

He looked down at the closed fist of the pale hand, and had an uneasy feeling, hoping the fist would remain closed. But the elf opened it slowly, to reveal the glittering Evenstar on its chain. It had been clutched in the hand of the orc that had struggled with Aragorn before the man went over the cliff, and Legolas had retrieved it and kept it safe. He held it out to its owner now, returning it with a heavy heart. 

Aragorn sighed heavily. He grasped both pale elven hands and kissed each of them lovingly. When the elf still refused to look up, the man grasped his chin and raised it so that their eyes met. 

“It was a gift from her, Legolas,” he stated, “I made no promises.”

For the first time in three days, the elf gave a slow, sad smile. 

“Perhaps not, Aragorn, but what does it change?” he asked quietly. “There is Gondor, as you said… and there, too, will the Evenstar bring hope.” 

Aragorn shook his head in frustration but had no answer, for the reminder of Gondor’s need – unnamed but understood – had come from Legolas’ own lips. He grasped the elven hands again and kissed the insides of the wrists, wetting them with his own tears now. 

Legolas did not wish to see the man thus torn, and the heart of the elf and friend took over again. Despite his own weariness, he kissed the brow of his friend and said consolingly: “Come, mellon nin, did you not say you had to see Theoden?” 

Aragorn looked up with his expressive grey-blue orbs, and Legolas had to resist taking him in his arms again. With every ounce of self-restraint he could muster, the elf swallowed his emotions and bent forward to re-fasten the Evenstar about the neck of the Ranger. Aragorn breathed in the scent of the elf whose face was so close to his, and wondered how he could carry on if he could not kiss those lips again. 

The elf drew back after fastening the chain and took a deep breath to steady himself. 

“You look terrible,” he said, his eyes roaming over the man’s torn clothes and wounds. “Let us get you cleaned up before you seek an audience with Theoden.” 

Aragorn saw past the seemingly light, callous remarks, and knew he was looking at a heart as full of pain as his own. 

\----------{{*}}---------- 

Hours later, as the Elf, Dwarf and Man and the small group of three hundred Rohan soldiers, farmers and peasants prepared to do battle – and most likely, die in that battle – against ten thousand ruthless Uruk hai and orcs, a horn was heard that brought some measure of hope to all. 

Into Helm’s Deep marched an elven army from Lothlorien, not enough to defeat the enemy, but perhaps enough to prolong the inevitable. 

Theoden and Aragorn’s gratitude and relief were substantial, and the Ranger could not stop the impetuous hug of relief he gave Haldir, who led the army. Legolas, too, was overjoyed at the unforeseen arrival of his kin and the hope – however small – they brought. Indeed, the sight of the skilled elven archers lifted the hearts of the Rohan folk, and their fair faces cast a little light on a dreary situation. 

Gimli alone scowled and grunted, muttering something under his breath. 

“What did you say, Gimli?” Legolas asked, amused despite the gravity of their situation. 

“Nothing,” the dwarf shot back sourly, “except that elves are ever eager to bask in a little glory!” 

By now, Legolas knew Gimli better than to feel affronted at his insults, for he knew that it was hard for the dwarf to forget the ages-old feud between their two races, yet – if the need arose – Gimli would risk his life for him without hesitation. So the elf laughed and clasped the shoulder of his friend. 

“I know your kin would be here if they could, friend Gimli,” he said generously. “And think not of this as glory for them, for they face the possibility of death just as we do. They have left the safety of Lothlorien for what may very well be a massacre…” his voice trailed off as he was reminded of the harsh reality of the coming battle, “no, they came not to seek glory, but I am glad they came.”

“And are you as glad to see me as I am to see you, Greenleaf?” a fair voice whispered behind him, startling him a little. He turned around to see the shining, sincere pleasure on the face of Rumil, and the next instant, the two friends were embracing warmly. 

_“Hannon le,_ Rumil, thank you for coming,” Legolas said with genuine appreciation. “Your presence is as water in a parched land. I cannot tell you how much we need you!” 

“Then can you tell me how much _you_ need me, young one?” the older elf breathed into the delicate ear of the Mirkwood prince, kissing it lightly and making the elf blush – just as Aragorn turned from speaking to Haldir and his eyes alit upon the scene. 

Even though the two elves missed the hard look that crossed the man’s face, Gimli did not. The dwarf waited to see what he would do, but when he merely remained where he was, trying to suppress the surge of jealousy through his veins, the dwarf gave a loud snort of irritation and threw up his hands. 

“Fools!” he declared to no one in particular and stomped off to steal a smoke before going into possible death. 

Legolas and Rumil whipped around in puzzled surprise to see the dwarf leaving, but when they failed to see the cause of his perturbation, they turned back to each other. Recalling what Rumil had just asked him, Legolas blushed again and lowered his head to hide it, letting his hands slide off Rumil’s arms. 

“Rumil…” he said hesitantly, “I have told you… I… I am not… not ready…” 

“Hush, little one,” Rumil interrupted, smiling and placing a finger on Legolas’ lips. “I know.” 

“I am not little,” Legolas protested. “I am…” 

“Almost a thousand years old,” Rumil supplied, laughing, “but easily one or two thousand years younger than most of us are. You are a little one!” 

Legolas could not resist the charm in the light brown eyes and laughed as well, glad for the little cheer before the Storm. 

“Come, the others will be glad to see you again, too,” Rumil said. He placed a proprietary arm around Legolas and led him to where the other elves were gathered. 

_I am glad for their presence,_ Legolas thought to himself as he let Rumil guide his steps. _They will help me be strong for Aragorn. This is his test, and he will need me._

He did not see the misery in Aragorn’s eyes as they followed his movements, and little could Aragorn guess the elf’s thoughts, seeing only the comfortable manner in which he enjoyed the company of his kin, and one elf in particular. 

Aragorn’s hand strayed to the Evenstar on his chest, and his emotions battled within him even as the battle for Helm’s Deep began.


	7. Brief Comforts

**Chapter 7: Brief Comforts**

**(MUCH of the first part of this chapter comes from Peaceangel’s “Convictions.” The wonderful images and some of the expressions are hers.)**

As I cast my eyes around me, and I see a scene that I could only have imagined in my worst nightmares, only one question runs through my mind: 

How did we survive this?

How did we survive an assault of ten thousand bloodthirsty Uruk Hai and orcs on three hundred Rohirric refugees, many of whom were merely farmers and peasants, and who had seen too many or too few winters? 

The grim shadow of death spreads itself over the scene, and the stench of blood sickens me. Destruction is all I see at Helm’s Deep. It is littered with carnage: lifeless bodies – some twisted, some more bloody than others, some looking peaceful as in sleep, but all horribly dead.

There they lie: bodies of men and orcs and Uruk Hai and – what is most painful to me – elves, the fair creatures who need never have been involved in the first place.

I descend hard stone stairs, and my eyes linger on the bodies of the elves being sorrowfully gathered by their kin. I cannot help it; I seek out the body of Haldir the Marchwarden, surrounded by several of his people. They sing softly and sadly, their angelic voices floating on some other plane, and horribly out of place in this field of demonry.

I can hardly take three steps without feeling sick, without hating Saruman for what he has done, for having sent his hordes of killers. My eyes and throat burn from the smoke and ash that hang heavily in the depressing air. I turn and see Theoden in deep conversation with Gandalf and Eomer, their faces grave.

Gandalf. Because of Gandalf, we won, but just barely. Thank the Valar he came in time, bringing help, bringing back Eomer and the Rohirrim whom Theoden had foolishly banished from Rohan at the whim of Grima Wormtongue. Thank Elbereth Theoden had been saved from Saruman’s power over him in time to be king again, or all three hundred refugees - and every single one of us – would have perished, for we would have fought to the death if help had not arrived.

The face of Legolas drifts into my mind even at this moment, and I feel weak when I think about how easily he could have been lost as well. If he had fallen… if he had fallen… I would not have lived. I would not have wanted to.

The thought hurts my chest, and I veer away from the three figures. I am in no frame of mind to be engaged in talk with them. Not yet. My head hurts, my body aches, and my heart weeps. Anger beats darkly in my breast. My blood still boils with the heat of battle, and I cannot find peace – not in the companionship of Theoden or Gandalf or Eomer, nor the courageous Gimli who had saved my skin during the battle, nor even the beautiful elves of Lorien.

Nay, my eyes search the courtyard for only one person.

And I see him. 

He looks only a little disheveled, amazingly whole – like the surviving elves – despite the battle he has fought. He attacked and defended without a halt, with arrows and knives and sword – whatever weapon he had on hand, and I know that if he had lost all of them, his bare hands would have served. He would have been just as deadly, just as precise, just as strong. But he too would have been overpowered in the end, and I thank the Valar yet again that he survived. 

And because he survived, I, too, can go on.

There he stands now, still clad in the protective mail Theoden’s men had found for him. He is dressed in the mail of Rohan, but he is with his kin. They grieve over the death of so many. Orophin holds Rumil close to his chest, comforting him over the loss of their brother Haldir. Legolas bows his head, though I can hear his melodic voice blend into the soft, heartbreaking elven chorus. 

Rumil turns to him and they wrap their arms around each other. I feel the familiar surge of jealousy rise within me, yet I cannot grudge them this moment, for they are kin, and I an outsider in their grief, although I share the keenness of their loss. 

So I merely sit and watch from a distance, for I know not what to say that could make things any less painful. I can only curse the Ring and its very existence. I curse Sauron and wish that the whole war with him could be over now. Whatever happens, I have to make sure Frodo gets his chance to destroy it, I have to – 

“Do something before it’s too late,” came the voice of Gimli, startling me. 

I turn and see the sturdy dwarf seating himself at my side, boring into me with his hard eyes. 

“I am doing something,” I say in retort. “We all are. What do you think this war is about?” 

Gimli rolls his eyes and does not bother to hide his grunt. “I am not talking about the Quest,” he hisses in irritation. “Are you blind, or daft, or both?” 

He points a large, dirty finger at Legolas who is still in the arms of Rumil, their fair heads close together. 

“They are elves,” is all I can say, as if that explains everything: their closeness, my lineage, my responsibility, and the pain in my heart.

“And you, Aragorn, are an ass,” Gimli pronounces. He opens and closes his mouth much like a fish in the ponds of Imladris and looks like he has more to say. But then he gets up and walks away, leaving me to stare after him and wonder how much he knows. 

I look back at Legolas and see him with his arms still around Rumil. They whisper, and Rumil leaves his embrace to go to where Orophin is, and the two brothers kneel at the side of their fallen sibling, their looks sorrowful enough to draw tears of pity from a stone. 

Legolas lifts his head and turns it slowly. His eyes, wide and woeful, are searching for something. The proud, dependable warrior, prince of his Mirkwood kin, now simply looks lost. 

His face turns towards me now, and when our eyes meet, I see him exhale and his shoulders relax, and I entertain the thought that he might have been searching not for something, but for someone: me. Is it my imagination, or did a spark fly from his eyes to mine? 

I see a ghost of a smile touch his lips in spite of the glint in his eyes that tells me they are moist. I see him standing there, a forlorn but utterly beautiful angel. Even among his fair kin, he is like a ray of sunshine in a bright sky, and my heart skips a beat. I start to smile back, but just then, a hand touches his shoulder and he turns to face a Lorien elf who gently draws him into a small knot of elves, bidding him join them in offering another song to honor their slain. 

Soon, my ray of sunshine is hidden from me. 

\-------------{{*}}-------------- 

_The sun is setting._

_Red like the blood on the ground beneath which my people lie. They are – they were – elves of Lothlorien, but they were still my people._

_Glad I was to see them earlier, but now part of me wishes they had not come. Then Haldir would still be alive, and Rumil and Orophin would not be lamenting his death._

_Blood. So much blood._

_I cannot get it off my hands. It sits on my clothes, a hateful reminder of what has happened, and the losses we have to bear._

_Begone, you vile stain. Leave me and torment me not. I would remove you and all you signify. Go, go. Why will you not leave me?_

_I would scrape you off if you did not cloy to me so cruelly. I would bleach you from my skin – nay, I would bleach my skin, if I could rid myself of you._

_Leave me be!_

\-----------{{*}}-----------

That was how Aragorn found Legolas later that evening: sitting alone, facing a stone wall in a dark, remote recess of Helm’s Deep, rubbing at the blood stains on his clothes and trying to remove them in vain. Gimli stood a little behind the Ranger, having alerted him to where the elf had been seated for the past hour, silent and unresponsive to even his dwarven friend. 

Legolas had shed the protective shoulder-guards and his arm plates, for which Aragorn was glad, for the Ranger had found it ill-fitting: hard Rohirric mail on the fine, lithe figure of a Firstborn. His breast plate, however, still remained, for the side-catches were harder to reach without help.

“Legolas?” Aragorn’s voice called softly, but there was no response, and the elven hands did not cease in their motions, attempting to erase marks that the elf was well aware could not be removed. 

“Legolas,” Aragorn called again in concern, moving closer when there was still no reply, and no halt in the strange movements. 

“He’s been sitting there in that manner for nigh over an hour,” Gimli muttered, as if in annoyance, but he could not hide the note of worry in his voice. “He’s been rubbing and rubbing, and I can’t get him to stop!”

Aragorn closed the distance between himself and the elf and caught hold of the slender hands, grasping them firmly when the elf tried to continue their futile task. Small cuts – obviously inflicted by ruthless orcs during battle – were on the elven hands and arms, but there were also signs of abrasion where the elf had tried to clean them of blood – none too gently, by the looks of it. 

Aragorn swore under his breath and released one hand to grasp the elf’s chin so that he could look into his eyes. The blue orbs stared back at him, frighteningly distant, lost in grief and hard with anger, and a tear traced a thin trail down one cheek. His lips were set in a firm line – wordless and cold.

“Legolas!” Aragorn called firmly, kneeling and shaking the elven shoulders. The elf gasped suddenly and raised his hands to push the man away, but Aragorn held him quickly, trapping the pale hands between them. Feeling the elf shiver, he whispered gently into an elven ear. 

“It is over, Legolas,” he said soothingly. “It is over.” 

“It will not leave me,” the elf replied in a broken voice against Aragorn’s cheek. “I loathe it, but it will not leave me!” 

Aragorn looked at Gimli, who shrugged, concern written on his face. 

“What will not leave you?” the Ranger asked, mouthing his question against the golden hair. 

“This blood… this gore! This stain of death!” came the choked reply. “So much…”

Aragorn sighed in sympathy. The deaths of his kin had hit Legolas harder than the man expected, for he had never seen the elf crumble in this way, and the Ranger needed to comfort him. “It will – ” he began.

“I cannot wash it away,” Legolas croaked out sadly. “I cannot wash it away.” And the elf tried to free his hands to continue scouring them of blood that was no longer there.

The piteous lament went to Aragorn’s heart, and he thought quickly. “Gimli,” he called, and when the dwarf approached, he gave him some crisp instructions, his arms never leaving the one he held. When the dwarf had left, Aragorn kissed the delicate ear close to his lips and whispered: “Hold on, Legolas. We will wash it off, and it will leave you.” 

He kept repeating this till he felt the elf grow limp. Slowly, he loosed his hold on Legolas and moved back so that he could see the elf’s face. The look of sorrow there was now mixed with a yielding trust, and the startling blue eyes – still beautiful in the setting sun – held Aragorn’s without blinking. The man’s eyes wandered to the elven lips that were wet with tears, and he wanted nothing more than to seize them with his own. But he held back. 

Instead, his hands moved to trace the dents on the breast plate still covering Legolas’ chest, and he shuddered to think what an orc scimitar would have done to that slender body if the plate had not been there. Yet he hated the sight of that armor now, and he quickly loosened the side-catches of the breast plate with his calloused fingers and lifted the heavy contraption free of the elf.

Then they waited. 

\----------{{*}}----------

An hour later, man and elf were seated upon Brego as the horse made its way carefully up a rocky trail to a small pool in the hills behind Helm’s Deep. The route there was exactly as Eomer had described to Gimli: up a rocky trail with six turns, till falling water could be heard; then one simply needed to follow the sound along easier ground. 

Aragorn had decided that both of them should ride only on one horse, both because Eomer had said the trail was narrow, and because he wanted to feel the elf against him, stealing whatever moments were left to them to be close together.

As they neared the pool, Aragorn cleared his throat and threw a hesitant question to the elf behind him. “What…. What happened… to you… earlier?” 

The question took Legolas by surprise, and he tightened his hold about the man’s waist. The elf hid his face against the man’s shoulder and sighed. His response came in a pain-filled voice: “The deaths… so much blood… all the innocent… I just wanted them gone from my mind… my clothes…. my hands…” 

Aragorn stroked a thumb along the smooth skin of the elf’s hands around his midriff, comforting him with the small touch. “You are no stranger to battles, _mellon nin,_ ” he said quietly. “Why – ?” 

“This was different!” the elf retorted, bringing his head back up. “No battle I have fought in has been so senseless, so ruthless! All those people died for someone’s greed – all those elves – and Haldir… Haldir…” 

Hearing the torment in the elf’s voice, Aragorn regretted having reminded him of the ugly event, but before he could voice his regret, Legolas spoke first. 

“I am sorry, Aragorn, I was not strong enough – ” 

“Legolas! Do not reproach yourself over it,” the man admonished, clasping the elven hands with his free one. “They were your kin; of course you would grieve.” 

“But I was weak, Aragorn,” the elf protested. “You do not need a weak fighter beside you – ”

“You do not know how far from the truth you are!” Aragorn rejoined, turning his head a little to make sure the elf heard him. “You, Legolas, are my strength. You are the reason I can go on.” 

Legolas exhaled. “You cannot mean that, Aragorn,” he whispered. “Your commitment to the Quest and to Gondor – that is your strength. I am merely here to help you.” 

“You are wrong, Legolas,” the man breathed. “You are so wrong.” 

They fell silent again, and before either could think of something more to say, the pool appeared before them. Fed by a small fall of water at one end and flowing over a lip of rock at the other, the shallow body of water was perfect for Aragorn’s present needs. He wanted Legolas to be able to wash himself of the stains of battle, and wash away some of his grief in the process. This water – remote, silent, and fresh – would offer that reprieve. 

Dismounting quickly, he watched Legolas get off the horse as well and gasp in quiet delight at the pool before them. A smile curved Aragorn’s lips while he retrieved from their packs the precious supply of soap that the Imladris elves had provided them with at the start of the Quest, and the last of the clean clothes they had brought along. 

Walking up to the elf who was already starting to undress, Aragorn handed him the soap and said gently: “We’re away from death and lifeless eyes now, Legolas. Here, wash it all away, my friend, and be whole again.”

Legolas turned to him wordlessly and as he took the proffered soap, he gave Aragorn such a heartfelt smile of gratitude that it took the man’s breath away and made the trip here worthwhile. Before long, the elf had removed his shoes and every inch of clothing, no longer caring that Aragorn was watching. The man felt an ache in his groin at the sight of the slender, ivory body. He had seen Legolas naked before when he was much younger and they had been swimming in a pond near Imladris, but the heat he felt now was more intense. Even covered in the gore of battle, Legolas was stunningly beautiful, and Aragorn found himself struggling to control his desires when the elf walked gracefully to the center of the pool, glowing faintly in the light of the rising moon.

While shedding his own clothes, the man’s hand brushed against the chain of the Evenstar, and he froze. 

Arwen. Gondor. 

They surfaced in his mind and made him release a hiss of frustration. Then he cast his eyes to the figure of Legolas and saw – or thought he saw – the stains of battle on his arms, and the blood and gore in his golden hair, and he remembered how closely the both of them had come to never seeing another day. 

Aragorn made a decision. They had escaped a horrible death by the faintest of hopes, and for tonight at least – they deserved to be away from the reminders of the responsibilities that awaited the heir of Isildur. 

He removed the Evenstar from around his neck before wading out to where Legolas was washing himself with undisguised fervor. Aragorn had to stop himself from imagining what he might be soaping beneath the water. He watched the elf for a while, fascinated by the grace and sensuousness of his movements even in bathing himself. When the elf tilted his head and moved the soap slowly up the side of his neck, Aragorn swallowed. At that moment, all he wanted to be was that cake of soap in the elf’s hand. 

Legolas turned to him just in time to see Aragorn standing still, looking at him with tenderness – and clear desire – in his eyes. He felt so much love for the man then that it hurt, but he reminded himself of what should not be, and he frowned. He immediately regretted it, however, when he saw the look of disappointment in Aragorn’s eyes, and he wanted to kick himself. The man had understood his needs, brought him here so he could clean himself, and was now probably holding back what he truly felt. Whatever the constraints they had to observe, Aragorn deserved some comfort too this night. 

Smiling warmly at the man, Legolas held out an inviting hand to him and said: “Come, Aragorn, let us enjoy this pool while we can, for the Valar only know what vile times lie ahead.” 

Even in the moonlight, Legolas could see Aragorn’s expression brighten immediately as the man waded over and allowed the elf to press down gently on his shoulders so that he sat in front of him on the smooth floor of the pool. 

“Close your eyes, Aragorn,” Legolas whispered from where he knelt behind the man, once again sending shivers down the Ranger’s spine as he had not failed to do since the man was eighteen. “Let me wash away your grief as well.” 

He tilted Aragorn’s head back gently and washed his hair slowly, feeling the man’s tension melt beneath his hands. The elven hands then dropped to the man’s shoulders, cleaning them and moving downwards and beneath the water to wash him around the waist. With his eyes closed, Aragorn held his breath and waited to see what would happen. But Legolas moved back up to lovingly clean the regal cheekbones and the bearded jawline, brushing his fingers softly along the man’s chin and slowly down his neck, feeling the man tremble slightly. When he leaned over Aragorn’s shoulder and swept his hands slowly over the collarbones to travel a soapy path down the broad chest with its soft hair, both man and elf could feel their breathing growing more rapid. The absence of the Evenstar did not escape the elf’s notice, but he said nothing, still determined to give Aragorn this brief time of respite. 

Aragorn’s eyes suddenly snapped open, and he grabbed both the elf’s arms and held them in place. The man turned his face to where the elf was leaning over his shoulder and found their lips a mere inch apart, so close that their breaths mingled and they could almost taste each other’s want. For a few moments, all they could do was gaze at each other and listen to the soft swirls of water in the pool.

“Legolas,” Aragorn murmured, swallowing. 

“Yes?” the elf responded, hardly above a whisper, and waited expectantly. 

Aragorn quickly closed the gap between their faces with a passionate kiss, holding the elf’s arms so that he could not move away. It was an unnecessary precaution, for Legolas was in no hurry to unwind his arms around the man’s neck and chest. He tightened his hold and pulled Aragorn closer, rubbing his nipples against the man’s back, while his mouth savored the man’s lips and tongue. Aragorn moaned into their kiss, weaving the fingers of one hand into the wet hair at the back of the elf’s head. 

“Valar… Legolas…” he murmured into the elven mouth, and with one quick twist, he had turned himself around in the water to face the elf. Before Legolas could come to his senses, he had spread the elf’s legs and wrapped them around himself. Man and elf gasped as their arousals came into contact for the first time, and Legolas made to pull away with a look of guilt, but Aragorn held him in place with a strong arm about the slender waist. 

“We know our boundary, Legolas, and we shall not cross it,” the man said sadly, caressing the elf’s cheek with his other hand, “but for tonight… let us just be together.” 

Legolas gazed into the eyes of the heir of Isildur, and in that moment, he saw in the blue-grey pools both the confusion of an uncertain future and the pleading look of one in need of comfort. A moisture filled his eyes that did not come from the waters of the pool, and he smiled tenderly before he kissed the man on the tip of his nose.

Teasingly, he brushed his soft lips against Aragorn’s, dodging them when they tried to capture his, and bent his head to bite gently on the man’s neck instead. A moan escaped Aragorn’s lips, which grew more desperate when the elf moved downwards to lap a wet tongue at the taut nipples through the manly hair. As Aragorn went slowly insane, Legolas pushed himself back from the man, and his head quickly disappeared beneath the surface, his golden hair floating like fine golden reeds. A moment later, Aragorn gasped when he felt Legolas graze his teeth along his abdomen. 

“Legolas… oh Valar,” the man cried in tormented passion, grasping the golden head he could feel but could not see in the darkness of the water. “If you… keep doing that… elf… I shall lose… my senses…” 

Legolas resurfaced, looking utterly clean and beautiful in the moonlight, his hair swept back from his delicate features. 

“Legolas, I… I cannot have my pleasure with you and then leave you for Gondor,” Aragorn said in exasperation. “It would not be fair on you – ”

The man’s blue-grey eyes shone with regret and frustration, and he opened his mouth to speak again, but Legolas clamped it with his wet hand that smelt of sweet soap. 

“Hush, Aragorn, I know what we both want, and I know what we cannot have,” Legolas said quietly. “Thank you for bringing me here, for at least part of our grief has been washed away,” the elf continued softly. “For a while at least, I can forget all about war in Middle-earth, and it is wonderful.” 

Aragorn nodded sadly. “We both need it,” he confessed. “Let us speak no more of our sadness for a while, Legolas, let me just hold you and drown in your warmth.” 

With that, his lips closed over the elven ones in a hungry kiss, and he pulled the elf close to him so that every part of them touched. They remained locked in each other’s arms, drawing strength and comfort from each other till the moon began to set.

\--------------{{*}}-------------

As dawn announced a new day, man and elf returned slowly to Helm’s Deep. Though they were refreshed and cleansed more than they could have hoped for, they were once again immersed in the grim reality of the power of the Ring when they watched elves and men sing their liturgies to the dead. 

A sense of profound anger filled Aragorn as he rode in. 

Because of Sauron’s greed for power, Middle-earth stood threatened, and to stem that threat, he had to reclaim Gondor and re-establish the line of kings. And that meant giving up the elf he wanted.

Because of Saruman’s own greed, hundreds of good men were dead here. Thousands more elsewhere in the Westfold. 

Enough death, enough destruction, he vowed. The quest must be fulfilled, and the only thing that had to be destroyed was the Ring, for with it would come the fall of Sauron and Saruman. 

“Frodo, my friend,” he thought, “We fight to keep hope alive, to take his attention away from you. My hope is that you are alive and still hold true to your purpose.” 

‘I must draw the attention of Sauron,’ Aragorn thought. ‘I must let him know I am alive – so he will not focus on Frodo.’ 

He did not know how he would do it, but somehow he must. 

He could not foresee then what the consequences of that resolution would be.


	8. Words of Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: As usual, some elements in this chapter are book canon and some AU.

**Chapter 8: Words of Stone**

The grove of trees in the woods above Dunharrow was dark, and shadows seemed to lurk behind every tree. The only sounds Aragorn could hear around him were the occasional scurrying of woodland animals, and more infrequently, the distant neighing of horses and the voices of the Rohirrim drifting up from the camp below; they were all waiting for more troops to come from all over Rohan, to ride to the aid of Gondor. 

From somewhere deeper in the woods came the sound of water: a gentle fall that reminded Aragorn of the pool above Helm’s Deep, where he spent those wonderful hours alone with Legolas, each knowing the other’s need to hold him close. The memory alone warmed Aragorn and awoke a fire in his veins. They had not encroached beyond that unnamed limit, but just being in each other’s arms had been enough to give them strength to go on. There was still much to be done for the freedom of Middle-earth. 

Aragorn sighed. The freedom of Middle-earth was the very reason he was sitting here in this grove. Alone. Away from Theoden and Eomer and the Rohirrim in the camp down there. Away from Legolas and Gimli and Merry, who must be sitting around one of the fires somewhere below. He was alone. Alone with the object wrapped in a piece of rough cloth, sitting on a tree stump in front of him.

He had wanted a chance to challenge the power Sauron and Saruman wielded over Middle-earth, and here it was. 

It had come sooner than he expected, and of all the people who could have given it to him, it was the most unexpected – the hobbit Pippin – who had handed it to the Ranger. For it was the hobbit who had picked up the _palantir,_ the Seeing Stone that had been in Saruman’s possession, when Grima Wormtongue had flung it out of Saruman’s tower at Isengard. Grima must have been hoping to hit someone with it when he threw it out – it could have been any one of the group gathered below the balcony: Theoden, Eomer, Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, or Pippin. But his aim had not been accurate and the Stone had fallen into the water that flooded the tower and blocked Saruman’s means of escape. 

Pippin had retrieved it from the watery depths, and Gandalf had snatched it from the hobbit, knowing how dangerous the Stone could be. Leaving the Ents to guard Saruman in his tower, the group had ridden back to Edoras. Safe the Stone would have remained in Gandalf’s hands – if Pippin had not given in to his reckless curiosity and stolen it from the wizard during the night. He had even looked into it, seen the Eye of the Enemy – and almost died from the experience. 

But as fate sometimes works, it worked that night to show the Fellowship some of Sauron’s plans: Pippin had seen the White Tree of Gondor, burning, and he had seen a fleet of Black Ships sailing towards Minas Tirith. And then the Eye had seen Pippin and questioned him, thinking that this was the Halfling who had the Ring. And Sauron now knew that Saruman was trying to wrest power from him, for it was the wizard’s Stone through which he was connecting with the hobbit. 

Who could blame Gandalf for making an immediate decision to ride to Minas Tirith at first light, to warn them? And who could blame Gandalf for deciding to take Pippin with him, to keep him out of further trouble? 

Yes, they would ride tomorrow, but tonight… tonight, the future King of Gondor saw a chance to challenge Sauron himself. 

_The Enemy already thinks it is Pippin who carries the Ring,_ Aragorn thought. _Let him see me now – let him know I live, that I pose a threat to his plans to take Gondor. And let him busy himself with fears about us – so that he does not even have a shadow of a suspicion about the Truth: that the Ring is being carried into his realm by another hobbit. Let him look to us here, so that he has no time to look for something closer to him._

Once he had decided that, Aragorn took a deep breath, and reached out to the Stone. Both his hands tensed and paused above the bundle as he remembered Gandalf’s warning.

“The Stone is a dangerous tool to handle,” Gandalf had once said. “If you cannot master it, it will master you. And even if you can master it, there is no telling how it will affect you. See what it has done to Saruman!” 

Aragorn grimaced. If Gandalf were to know what he was doing now, the wizard might not approve of it. But he was of the line of Numenor, and he was one of the rightful owners of the Seeing Stones. He had to try to wrest the power back from Saruman. 

With that resolve, and with his lips set firmly in a straight line, he reached out to the cloth-covered bundle and unwrapped it. 

\----------{{*}}------------- 

Legolas and Gandalf sat around silently by a fire outside one of the tents set aside for the members of the Fellowship. A little distance away, Gimli, Pippin and Merry were busy chatting and eating with the few elves who had remained with them. Rumil and Orophin were among them; they had decided to ride on to Gondor, to continue aiding the Fellowship so that their brother would not have died in vain. 

“Gandalf,” Legolas called softly to the wizard.

“Hrmph,” the wizard responded absently as he often did. His mind was on Minas Tirith and what he would need to do when he got there. He looked up when the elf called his name and saw Legolas’ eyes – glittering in the firelight – trained on something high above the camp. He followed the elf’s line of vision and saw what had attracted his attention. 

“What is that light coming from the woods up there?” Legolas asked, suddenly feeling a little uneasy. All evening, he had noticed the absence of Aragorn, and no one had been able to say where the man was. The elf had felt a little disheartened, for these were dangerous times, and he did not like it when Aragorn was out of his sight. 

“Where is Aragorn?” he asked now, looking around, his uneasiness mounting. 

Gandalf remained silent, watching the light flicker in the woods. A suspicion grew in his mind, and he got up suddenly. 

\----------{{*}}-------------

"You cannot trust everything the Stone shows you," Gandalf had said once. "But it does not lie. What it shows will come to pass."  
With that reminder in his head, Aragorn placed his hands on the globe.

\----------{{*}}-------------

Rising from his seat as well, Legolas saw the wizard stride quickly to his tent, and a sense of fear gripped him. He watched the waxing and waning light a while longer, but when he heard Gandalf rummaging about inside the tent, he walked towards it as well. 

From where he was, Rumil saw the movement of the two companions, and sensing something amiss, he hurried over to where Legolas was. 

Gandalf pushed aside the tent flap just as Legolas and Rumil drew up, and emerged, looking worried. Legolas swallowed and found his throat suddenly dry. 

“What – ?” he began. 

“Come,” the wizard cut in, and without waiting for the elves, began walking towards the path at the back of the camp that would take them up to the woods from which the light was coming. 

\----------{{*}}-------------

_The White Tree was burning, just as Pippin had seen it. A white tree in a courtyard of stone. Minas Tirith._

_The scene clouded over and all went black. Then from the black nothingness came a flame, and the flame grew till it covered the whole globe._

_And then the flame took shape. A great Eye, lidless, wreathed in fire._

_It roamed, looking right and left, searching… searching… till it saw that it was not alone._

_There were Eyes seeking it too. Grey, steely eyes, as cool as It was hot. As calm as It was turbulent._

_It had seen Aragorn – heir of Isildur, heir of the one who had cut the Ring from his finger. Aragorn: alive, strong, determined, and utterly threatening._

_With a ferocious flare, it sent forth its power, struggling for mastery of the Stone, trying to break the will of the Numenorean heir._

_The globe clouded over again, and another scene appeared: Black ships, a fleet of black ships on a river, and then the scene shifted, and Minas Tirith appeared, burning._

The sweat flowed down from Aragorn’s brow, across his eyes and down the sides of his face in little rivulets. He blinked. 

_You cannot frighten me this way. We will stop your ships. We will find a way._

_The Eye appeared again; its flare was so fierce and so sudden that the roar could almost be heard._

_Suddenly, all was dark again._

Aragorn let out the breath he was holding. His hands shivered a little. But just as he was about to remove them from the Stone, another scene appeared. Like the slow breaking of day at dawn, it grew brighter, and brighter, till all was clear.

_Rumil stood in some woody grove – suspiciously like this one – with a smile and a hopeful, longing look on his handsome face. His hands were held out, and resting in his upturned palms, with his thumbs stroking them, was another pair of hands, fair and slender and smooth._

Aragorn stiffened and swallowed, his hands gripping the Stone, his eyes riveted on the scene. He knew those hands! The owner could not be seen, but Aragorn knew those beloved hands.

_Rumil’s eyes were shining as he focused – very obviously – on someone in front of him: the one whose hands he held. The Lorien elf’s lips moved to form a question, asked with a sweet smile._

And though nothing was actually voiced, Aragorn could hear everything in his head, as clearly as if the words had been uttered aloud: 

_Will you bond with me, Legolas?_

Aragorn sucked in a breath and gripped the Stone harder. He felt a little faint, and was tempted to fling the Stone to the ground, but he struggled to maintain control of himself. He could hardly breathe as he watched the scene continue to unfold.

_Now there was just Legolas, standing in the same place – a beautiful smile gracing his fair face. He was holding out his hands as well, and with tears of joy in his shining eyes, he parted the soft elven lips and spoke._

And like before, Aragorn knew exactly what was being said. The future king of Gondor thought he would die when he heard, through the power of the Stone, the words from Legolas’ lips that drove through his heart like a thousand knives: 

_My heart is already yours... Yes, I will bond with you._


	9. Torment

**Chapter 9: Torment**

Aragorn was hardly conscious of where he was walking. He put one foot in front of the other, vaguely aware that he was going downhill, retracing the route he had taken to get to the grove of trees high above the camp. In the crook of one elbow, held snugly against his chest, was the object of his hate at the moment, swathed in thick, rough cloth. 

Light, dark, grass, stone… they seemed all the same tonight. He could see nothing except the last two scenes he had witnessed in the Stone, he could hear nothing except what he knew Rumil had asked, what Legolas had answered, and Gandalf’s declaration: _The Stone does not lie._ He could feel nothing except hot tears, pain in his heart – dull and sharp in turn – and anger. 

_I wish I could have remained Estel,_ he thought bitterly. _I wish I had never become –_

“Aragorn!” came the sound of his name uttered by the sweetest voice he could imagine. 

His head snapped up and saw the beautiful face and slender figure that went with the voice a few yards downhill from where he was. The fair face was breathtaking in the moonlight, and the look of relief on it made him weak. Blind to all else, he moved immediately towards it: the angelic face that seemed to dispel the disturbing visions he had seen. 

“What in tarnation have you done!” another voice interjected loudly, breaking the magic spell. A furious Gandalf appeared soon after Legolas – and behind him – the Lothlorien elf whose presence Aragorn could feel no pleasure over. An irrational anger began to simmer in him again. 

Reaching the Ranger, Legolas placed a hand on his arm and studied the pale, drawn face of the man with concern. “What has happened, Aragorn?” he asked softly. “Are you well?” 

Aragorn gazed at Legolas, truly not knowing what to answer. He started to reach for the elf’s face but stopped when Rumil and Gandalf drew up alongside them. The wizard glared at Aragorn for a moment before his features softened and he sighed. 

“Did you?” the wizened figure asked, raising an eyebrow before focusing his eyes on the bundle in Aragorn’s arms. Perplexed, Rumil and Legolas looked from the wizard to Aragorn to the cloth-covered object. 

“Did he what, Gandalf?” Legolas asked, the look of worry on his face deepening. Rumil noticed it and moved to the elf’s side, which irritated Aragorn further. 

_Cease this_ , the man told himself, feeling a little ashamed. _He means well._ The Ranger spoke quickly to shake free of unwanted thoughts. 

“I have looked into the accursed Stone of Orthanc, my friends,” he said a little shakily. “It was a long struggle, and I saw things…” His face took on a pained expression before he continued, “but I have wrested the Stone to my will.”

Both Gandalf and Legolas sighed deeply, and the wizard shook his head sadly. 

“The same things Pippin saw?” the old man asked. 

Aragorn nodded tiredly. “Those… and others.” 

The hesitation in his answer told his listeners that he had held something back, but none of them felt this was the time for an interrogation; the man seemed spent and fatigued. Perhaps he would speak of them later. 

“But why did you look into the Stone at all, Estel?” Legolas enquired gently. 

“To draw Sauron’s attention away from Frodo and the true Quest,” the man answered tiredly. “I wanted him to feel challenged, to know that the heir of Isildur lives. That might make him desperate… he may panic and strike too quickly…” 

“And the swift stroke often goes astray,” Rumil spoke up, nodding his head in agreement. “That was a bold move, Aragorn, and it may well prove to be pivotal to the success of the Quest.” 

Aragorn’s steely eyes shot Rumil a hard look, but when he realized how generously the elf had complimented him, he swallowed his pride and nodded. 

“Well, it had to happen sooner or later,” the old man said. “You are, after all, the rightful master of the Stone, but let us hope your encounter with… _him_ …brings about the right consequences.”

Aragorn nodded again, his face still grim. 

“Would you like me to take care of it for you?” Gandalf asked, reaching out for the Stone. 

“No!” the Ranger said sharply, startling his friends. He pulled the Stone closer to his body, and a dark, brooding look came into his eyes. “It… it is a dangerous thing, as you say, and it is my responsibility now. I do not want to risk anyone else falling prey to it.” 

Gandalf’s eyebrows knitted at those words. _And have you?_ he wondered silently. His hands fell back to his sides, and he decided to keep his misgivings for the moment. But he would watch Aragorn closely. 

“How do you feel now, Estel?” Legolas questioned, the look of anxiety never leaving his face. 

Aragorn turned in his direction, and when he saw the two elves standing together, a strange combination of frustration, anger, and sorrow stirred in him. At that moment, he could see nothing but their closeness, their shared beauty and immortality, and his own inability to give Legolas the happiness he deserved. A sense of dejection and despair came over him, and his voice reflected his emotions. 

“I am weary,” he declared. “I just wish to be alone.” 

And without waiting for anyone, he brushed past them and resumed his downward journey back to the camp below. He missed the three expressions of surprised confusion he left behind, and a hint of hurt on the face of the golden elf who watched his abrupt departure speechlessly. But Rumil did not miss it, and he placed a comforting hand on Legolas’ shoulder. 

“Perhaps it is best he has some time to himself,” he said consolingly. “Come, let us return to the camp as well.” And he kept an arm around the elven shoulders, feeling the warmth of the elf he desired. Legolas’ mind, however, was only on the figure distancing himself from them at a surprising speed. 

“Will he be all right, Mithrandir?” Legolas asked Gandalf quietly so that Aragorn would not hear them. 

The old wizard sighed. “We shall see, young prince,” he replied. “Let us hope so.” 

But the droop of his shoulders did not send Legolas a sense of hope. 

\---------{{*}}--------

“Are you awake, Aragorn?” Gandalf called softly, his head appearing just inside the tent where Aragorn had lain down. 

The man did not move from his position on the make-shift bed, where he lay with his back facing the flap of the tent. It was an unwise position to take in these times, but his mind was too preoccupied to bother about it; besides, he was surrounded by Rohirrim and he thought he could afford to let his guard down for tonight at least, so that he could a little time to think about what he had seen, and where his life was going.

But he found that he could not be left alone for long, at least not by Gandalf. 

“Yes,” he said in answer to the wizard’s question, and turned around only when he heard the wizard enter. He pushed himself up slowly, and wrapped his arms around his knees when the Maia sat on the edge of his bed. 

Gandalf studied the man’s face, noting the shadows under his eyes, and the grimness that had not left them. He also sensed that the Ranger had something he wished to get off his mind, but could not bring himself to talk about it, so he tried to make it easier for him. 

“Something troubles you, my friend,” the wizard said kindly, “and it will consume you till you confront it. Is it something you saw in the Stone?” 

Aragorn kept an obstinate silence, refusing to look at the old man. Gandalf frowned, and he looked around the tent as discreetly as he could, trying to locate the object that may have brought on this strange behavior from Aragorn. His eyes stopped roaming when he saw it in a corner of the tent – still wrapped securely in its cloth cocoon. With some relief, he turned back to the sullen man in front of him. 

“Aragorn, if it has something to do with the fate of Middle-earth, it would be wise to tell me now,” Gandalf continued in a persuasive tone. “What have you seen?” 

“Will they really occur, Gandalf?” the Ranger asked suddenly, looking up with angry eyes and surprising the wizard. “What the Stone shows – do the events really take place?” 

The white bushy eyebrows knitted above concerned eyes that looked closely at the face of the Ranger. “The Stone does not lie, as I have told you,” the wizard replied carefully. “It shows only things that will happen – or are happening.” 

Aragorn visibly stiffened at those words, and his hands fisted. The old wizard quickly placed a comforting hand on his forearm. 

“But I have also warned you that what you see may not be a complete picture,” he continued. “It shows much, but it is a poor guide to follow in determining what action to take. You should not make decisions based solely on what you see.” 

At Aragorn’s continued silence, the wizard pressed on. “Perhaps, too, the Stone – before you wrested it to your will – showed you only what it wished you to see.” 

Aragorn’s head swam. _Why would it wish for me to see Legolas promising himself to Rumil?_ he wondered bitterly. _To torment me with what I cannot have? Why?_

“What you cannot have?” Gandalf asked, puzzled, and only then did Aragorn realize that he had spoken the last part of his thoughts aloud. “What do you mean?” the wizard demanded. “Was it the Ring, Aragorn? Were you challenging Sauron for the Ring? Tell me!” 

“No!” the Ranger denied vehemently. His tone left no doubt in the listener’s mind that he was telling the truth, and the wizard sighed in relief. 

“Good, good,” he breathed, “for if you, too, were in danger of falling to its power, then Middle-earth is lost.” Gandalf looked deep into Aragorn’s blazing eyes. “Gondor needs her king.”

“No one needs to remind me of that!” the Ranger spat, alarming the wizard. “That is all I have been thinking about – and the reason I cannot have what I want!” 

The fury in his voice took the wizard aback. “What in Arda are you talking about, Aragorn?” he demanded. “Speak plainly so I can understand!” 

“No one can understand!” Aragorn hissed in frustration. His blue-grey eyes glared at Gandalf for long moments before they softened, and he bent his head and placed it on his knees. “No one can do anything about it,” he added sadly. 

Gandalf studied him for a few moments, a suspicion forming in his mind. 

“Perhaps you should talk to someone else – someone who is closer to you,” he suggested slyly. “I could ask Legolas to come…” 

“Don’t!” Aragorn protested firmly, whipping his head up and inadvertently confirming Gandalf’s guess. “Do not tell Legolas!”

The wizard raised one eyebrow and cocked his head. “Why not?” he probed. 

The two men locked eyes as one waited for an answer and the other struggled to word it, one wondering how much he would find out and the other how much he should reveal. Neither would hurry – so they waited. 

\----------{{*}}------------ 

Legolas sat staring at the fire, ignoring the banter between Merry and Pippin near him, focusing on the crackle and spit of the flames as they leapt. Occasionally, his eyes would travel to Aragorn’s tent and remain fixed on it for long moments before they returned to the fire. 

_I just wish to be alone,_ the man had said, shutting everyone out – everyone including him. 

Something was wrong with Aragorn, and the elf wished he knew what it was, and how he could help the man who meant so much to him. It pained him to think that Estel of Imladris would have confided in him, come to him for comfort – but Aragorn, heir of Isildur, merely pushed him aside.

“The way you stared at that fire, elf, one would think you could find answers there,” Gimli remarked gruffly, breaking into his thoughts. Legolas looked up to see the dwarf hovering near him, standing smugly with his hands on his hips. The sturdy figure motioned his head towards Aragorn’s tent. “What is eating him, eh?”

Legolas gave a most un-elf-like snort. “If I knew, Gimli, I would not be sitting here looking to the fire for answers,” he answered wryly. 

The dwarf grunted at the elf’s quick return. “Well, he’d better sort it out quickly. The war will not wait, much as I would like it to slow down – or not start at all. He’s our leader, and he needs to be whole. He can’t be sitting in there moping – or going crackers – or whatever it is he is doing.” 

Legolas did not know whether to be angry at Gimli, or to reassure him. Although the dwarf’s tone sounded disparaging, the elf knew he was really worried about the Ranger as well. No one was closer to Aragorn at this point than the members of the Fellowship, and they all cared a great deal about each other. Finally, he decided to be kind. 

“He has had a confrontation with Sauron, Gimli, and that could not have been easy,” the elf explained patiently. “I suppose he just needs time… and to be alone for a while.” 

Gimli grumbled nonetheless. “Men and elves,” he muttered, turning away to find his pipe. “Can never understand them…” and he walked away mumbling something about “strange ways.” 

Legolas shook his head and could not help the small grin that curved his lips. He turned his head towards Aragorn’s tent again, tempted to cross the fifty yards that separated them and ask the man to tell him what was troubling him. It could not be just the fact that he had confronted Sauron, he guessed, despite what he had told Gimli. Something else had disturbed the Ranger, and if he could only find the courage to approach the tent and – 

“The flap will not open just because you stare at it,” came a gentle voice in his ear, and even without turning around, Legolas knew it was Rumil. He groaned slightly – how similar a comment it was to the one Gimli had just made! 

Rumil’s smiling face appeared before his suddenly as the Lorien elf came to kneel lithely before him. Legolas returned the smile, thinking what a good friend Rumil was; he could not bear to see Legolas unhappy. 

“Dear Legolas,” the handsome elf said gently, “if you are worried about the _adan_ , go to him. Unless there is some magic about, the tent will not come to you.” 

Legolas laughed lightly and placed a grateful hand on Rumil’s shoulder. “You are a good person, Rumil,” he said sincerely. “A good friend – ” 

“And perhaps more than a friend some day,” the elf cut in. He grabbed Legolas’ hand that was on his shoulder and brought it to his lips, kissing it. “I am fast falling in lo – ” 

“Shhh, do not say it,” Legolas pleaded, placing his slender fingers on the elf’s lips. “Nay, say it not, Rumil. Not yet – for I am in no position to return it – and it would not be fair on you.” 

Rumil smiled crookedly and nodded resignedly. “Very well, my prince – ” 

“I am not your prince,” Legolas protested, frowning. 

“You are a prince in my eyes, fair Legolas,” Rumil insisted. “And if the one you desire cannot find the courage to claim such a treasure – I will, if you will have me.”

Legolas sucked in a breath and moved back a few inches, withdrawing his hand from Rumil’s grasp. “What kind of talk is this, Rumil?” he asked with wide, disturbed blue eyes. “What – what are you saying?” 

The Lorien elf’s eyes glittered. “You deserve happiness, Legolas, from someone who places you above all else,” he declared firmly. But when he saw the tempest in the blue eyes of the elf prince, he softened his tone, and reached out slowly to trace the prince’s soft lips with one finger. 

“But I shall bow to what you wish, and will not rush you,” he said courteously. “For I understand that your heart still needs to settle.” 

Legolas felt tears gather in his eyes. Rumil had shown nothing but kindness and respect towards him, and now he was saying that he would wait patiently till things were sorted out between Aragorn and him – if they ever could. 

If they ever could. That thought jolted him. What was there to sort out anyway? He loved the man, and the man – well, the man desired him, that he knew with certainty. And they felt so right when they were together. But – did Aragorn love him? He had never heard the Ranger profess anything… To be fair to Aragorn, perhaps it was because he could not... he dared not…

_But what does it matter_ , Legolas asked himself. _There is Gondor._ Those words had come from Aragorn’s own lips – and they would always stand between them like an invisible barrier. He himself had reminded Aragorn of it once…

_Legolas, stop this!_ He chastised himself suddenly. Here he was, thinking about whether Aragorn loved him, when the man was in his tent – miserable from whatever it was that had assailed him in the grove of trees. Whatever else might matter, Aragorn was the leader of the Quest and the only one who could challenge Sauron – and his welfare had to come first. The future of Middle-earth stood in the balance, and – Gimli was right – Aragorn had to be whole. 

_I am part of the Fellowship,_ Legolas reminded himself. _I must help Aragorn, and that has to be uppermost in my mind._ With that serious resolve, he got up suddenly and stood facing Aragorn’s tent. 

“I have to… I…” he began, trying to explain to Rumil what he needed to do. 

“I know,” the elf replied with a smile. “Did I not ask you to do so? Come, I will walk there with you – and you can see him alone after that if you wish.” 

Legolas threw Rumil a grateful smile; he really was an understanding person, and he would make someone a wonderful companion. 

They walked the fifty yards in a comfortable silence, but as they neared the opening of the tent, they heard voices from within. The elves looked at each other, silently communicating a common desire to not intrude – till Legolas heard the tone of frustration – and his own name – in Aragorn’s raised voice, and he could not make himself turn away. 

“Don’t!” Legolas heard Aragorn say firmly. “Do not tell Legolas!”

The wizard’s voice came next – calm and probing. “Why not?” 

Silence reigned while Legolas and Rumil stood transfixed, waiting just as Gandalf did. Then the answer came, hitting the golden elf like a sledgehammer: 

“Because Legolas is the problem!” the Ranger’s voice declared, and the elf listening outside went pale. 

\-----------{{*}}-----------

In the tent, Gandalf reeled a little from the bitterness of the Ranger’s tone; he now knew the cause of Aragorn’s grief. Although he did not know how it related to Aragorn’s encounter with Sauron through the Stone, he understood that the man’s feelings for the elf were what caused him to say he could not have what he wanted because of Gondor. 

The old wizard sighed. “Aragorn…” he began, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. He was shocked when the man shook it off roughly. 

“I do not need your pity, old man!” the Ranger said scornfully, hardly aware of what he was saying. He felt he wanted to shout out his frustration, but it seemed too much to explain, and there did not seem to be any point in it. “I know what I need: I need to focus on the Quest, I need to focus on what comes after. I do not need to be distracted by…” As the words of Lord Elrond came back to him, he blurted out: “…by passing fancies.” 

“And Legolas – ?” 

“He is a passing fancy! He can never be more than just a passing fancy to me. He is better off finding another. Now leave me alone!”

The Ranger was too immersed in the torment of the visions in his memory to catch the small cry of grief that came from outside the tent and the sound of footsteps scurrying away. But Gandalf did not miss them. There was much the wizard wanted to say to Aragorn, but one look at the dark anger in the Ranger’s face suggested that he should perhaps return at a later time – and there was an elf he needed to talk to in the meantime. 

“Very well, Aragorn, I will leave you alone for now,” he said calmly. “I will be back later. You are weary, as you said – and some sleep will do you good.” 

He got up from the bed and walked towards the tent opening. With one hand on the flap, he paused and looked back at the Ranger. He saw him uncurl himself from his sitting position and lie down, stretching himself out. The wizard caught just a brief glimpse of the man’s face before he placed his forearm over his eyes – and it was full of anguish. 

But he could not hear the thoughts running through the man’s mind:

_Who am I trying to deceive? I want Legolas. I do not want him bonded to another! I want him, I need him! Oh cruel Stone! Do not take him from me! Do not let the visions come to pass!_

With a heavy sigh, the old Maia stepped outside and closed the flap, leaving the future king of Gondor to the torture of his own thoughts.


	10. The Deal

**Chapter 10: The Deal**

Aragorn awoke with a start, silently screaming Legolas’ name. 

He sat still, breathing heavily and gripping the blanket that covered his legs. He’d had a nightmare – and it was still haunting him...The visions! The visions he had seen in the Stone – the ones of Rumil and Legolas – were still in his head, recurring again and again. He could not be free of them.

The Ranger looked around and became aware of where he was: in his tent. He let out a deep breath and brought his hands up to his face, feeling the wetness there. Was it sweat – or tears? Both, he realized. He remembered feeling tormented, even in sleep. Had the visions made him weep?

As he sat there breathing heavily in a cold sweat, thinking about Legolas and Rumil, he felt his heart rent asunder. And it was at that moment that he came to a realisation: nothing mattered more to him than the elf did. He wanted Legolas, needed him, and his life could not go on without him. He knew then that if Legolas were bonded with anyone else, his own heart would be shattered, or be turned to stone to render him a living death.

Stone. _The Stone,_ he thought. 

Aragorn looked around him, and in the dim light of the tent, his eyes found what he was looking for – exactly where he had placed it when he had brought it back. Sitting in a corner of the tent was the Stone that had shown him those hated visions. 

_Were they real?_ he wondered. Had he mistaken their meaning? 

He had to look again. He had to see everything again. To be sure. _How strange human nature is,_ he thought as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed to get up and walk over to the object. _We know something tortures us, yet we keep going back to it just to see it, to make sure it is there – like we are fascinated by the torment it inflicts on us._

He paused for a moment to listen. Everything seemed silent outside the tent. It must be the middle of the night now – everyone must be asleep, including the elf of his desires and his dreams. Just the thought of Legolas warmed him like nothing else could. Valar, how he wanted the elf, and right now, he felt he would do anything to make sure the visions did not come to pass. 

But could he? 

With that disturbing and desperate thought, he picked up the cloth-covered object once more and brought it to the bed. He was soon seated before the globe, which was still dark, with nothing to show him. Once more, he placed his hands on it – hating it, but unable to part from it, till it had shown him what he wanted to see again – hoping he had been mistaken. 

“Show me!” Aragorn demanded of it. “Show me again what will happen between Rumil and Legolas!” he hissed, not even knowing whether his words would have any effect on the Stone. “Is it true? Or were you mistaken before? Show me!”

Feeling a little foolish, but stubbornly persistent, he kept his hands on the globe till it slowly became alit as it had before. Then – like a toxin that slowly spreads to poison every fiber of one’s being, and although he did not want to believe them – the same scenes between Rumil and Legolas appeared, playing before him and twisting his heart with pain. 

“Legolas…” he uttered in a strangled voice. “Please… don’t let this come to pass…” 

_What would you give to have this future changed?_ a voice asked in his ear. 

“Anything,” he whispered in response, still staring at the globe. “Anything… he is all I want, he is all that matters to me…” 

As if to taunt him, the scenes played again before his anguished eyes.

“Nooooo!” he cried as an insane anger overwhelmed him, and he picked up the Stone to smash it on the hard floor of the tent. 

“Why waste such a precious gift of Sight, foolish human!” a powerful voice boomed in his ear. 

Aragorn almost dropped the Stone in astonishment when he turned around and saw the figure in white on the other side of the bed. 

“Saruman?! How – ?” he stuttered, and the globe slipped from his hands. Quick as lightning, he grabbed it again even as the mouth of the wizard opened in alarm.

Seeing the Stone safe again, Saruman relaxed and laughed – a chilling cackle that made Aragorn shudder. 

“But you are locked in Orthanc!” Aragorn exclaimed. “How – ?” 

“Oh, come now, Ranger of the North,” the white wizard taunted. “Remember who I am! Saruman the White! The grey fool Gandalf could come back from the dead – and you are surprised at _me_ escaping from a stone tower? The tower that I built?” Saruman smirked and laughed. “I am no ordinary human! It would take much more than a flood and a horde of… walking trees! … to hold me prisoner in my own tower! 

Having got past his shock, Aragorn stood quickly, holding the _palantir_ firmly under one arm and retrieving a dagger from under his pillow with the other hand. “Why are you here?” he demanded, “and how did you get past the Rohirrim?” He pointed the dagger at the white-robed figure and made a move towards the tent opening, intending to alert the others. 

“Tsk, tsk, and you call yourself the heir of Isildur,” the wizard said mockingly. “At least your ancestor knew what he wanted, and he had the courage to take it! You concern yourself with a small matter like how I – a Maia – could get past a puny obstacle like the army of a failing King Theoden, instead of fighting for what should be yours!” 

Aragorn swallowed. _How did he know…?_

“Did you not say that you would give anything to change what you saw in the _palantir_?” the wizard asked slowly, almost singing his words.

Aragorn stared at him, suddenly feeling strange. 

“Will you not say what you want, Aragorn?” the wizard persisted in the same tone – slow and soft and soothing.

His voice… his voice… it filled Aragorn’s ears, lulling him into a stupor. It was like a spell… 

“What do you want, Aragorn?... I can help you…” 

Aragorn swayed, and his hold on the dagger and the Stone relaxed. His lips parted to speak as of their own will. “I want… the events… in the visions… to change… I want…” 

“Yes?” Saruman prompted, moving very slowly towards the Ranger, who found that he could not move. “You want the future to be changed?” 

“I do not want… the bonding to take place…” the Ranger murmured as if he was outside of himself.

“The bonding?” the wizard repeated, not stopping his slow approach. 

“Legolas… Rumil… they cannot bond…” His hold on the _palantir_ and the dagger grew weaker.

“You want the bonding to stop?” 

“Yes… yes…”

“I can change that, Aragorn,” the wizard said in the same slow tone. He was just a yard away from Aragorn now. “I can grant you your wish.”

“You can?” Aragorn asked, his words soft and slurred now. “But Gandalf said… he said… events cannot be changed…” 

A soft laugh came from Saruman’s lips. “What would the old fool know?” he sneered. “He has never owned a _palantir!_ ” 

“But you… you can change things?” Aragorn asked, doubt in his voice even as he lost more of his will. 

“Yes, yes, I can,” came the convincing reply. “If you do not want the bonding to happen, I can make it so… for a small price.” 

At those last words, a warning entered Aragorn’s mind, and he tensed. “What is your price?” he demanded. 

The white figure stopped a foot from the Ranger and laughed lightly. “I just require something small from you, Ranger - nothing you would miss, but which has great value to me, for it was once mine.” 

Aragorn frowned, and he became aware of the _palantir_ in his hands once more. “Are you talking about this – the Seeing Stone?” He felt so out of his body now that he wondered why Saruman did not just wrestle the globe out of his weak hold on it.

“Yes, human, I only wish for what was once mine, that is all,” the wizard said in a syrupy tone. “I will not snatch it from you, for you have bent it to your will. But if you return it to me willingly… I will gladly grant you your wish: the bonding between the two elves will not take place.” 

Aragorn took a deep breath, confused by the flurry of thoughts running through his mind. Saruman should not have the Stone… it belonged to the line of Isildur… but what could it do even in the wizard’s hands? It could only show what was happening… what would happen… it would not affect the outcome of the war… it was a small price to pay… a small price… But wait… the Stone should not return to Saruman… he was a traitor… 

Saruman’s brows knitted at Aragorn’s hesitation, and a fey look came over his face. But it quickly disappeared to be replaced by an expression of mock resignation. 

“Very well, Aragorn,” he sighed, pretending to turn around to head for the tent exit. “If you will not relinquish the palantir, reconcile yourself to the bonding. Condemn Legolas to an immortal lifetime with one he does not truly love…” 

Upon hearing that threat, Aragorn’s eyes shot wide open, and he cried: “Wait!” 

The wizard halted, and the sly smile reappeared on his face. “So – you will release the Stone to me?”

“Can you truly stop the bonding? Will you keep your word?” the Ranger demanded, pointing the dagger at Saruman again with a shaky hand. 

A cackle emitted from the wizard’s throat, and he reached out a long, gnarled hand to place it on the globe, which began to glow lightly at the touch. “Yes, I swear on the _palantir_ ,” he vowed. “Trust me, Ranger, trust me…” 

Torn between guilt and want, but helplessly mesmerised by the voice of the white figure, Aragorn slowly handed over the Stone. “I – I release it to you.” 

Smiling, the wizard took it from Aragorn with both hands and nodded with satisfaction at the brightening glow in the globe. His hawk-like eyes bore into Aragorn’s again. “Are you certain about what you wish? You do not want the bonding to take place?” he asked carefully. 

Feeling wretched, and still strangely removed from himself, Aragorn nodded. 

“Then it is done!” the wizard declared. “No bonding will take place between the two elves!” 

As he uttered the words, the Stone flared, and the tent grew dark as if its light had been swallowed. In the red glare of the _palantir_ , Saruman’s face and eyes looked so demonic that Aragorn gasped and took a step back. A harsh laugh came from the throat of the wizard, and in a flash of blinding light, he and the Stone vanished, leaving only the dying echoes of his evil laughter. Once again, the tent looked as it had before: dimly lit. 

Aragorn staggered but quickly righted himself, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart. He shook his head and asked himself: Did it really happen? Was Saruman really here?

He looked at his hands, seeing only the dagger in one of them, and no Stone in the either. It _was_ gone. He had given it up – and he had made a deal with the traitorous wizard. 

It took some moments for his breathing to slow down, till he could make his legs move towards the bed, suddenly feeling the need to sit. 

But before he could take two steps, he was halted in his tracks. 

“Aragorn!” came a cry of agony, and an instant later, the tent flaps burst open and Gimli thundered in. One hand was clasped to his chest, and great distress was clearly written even on his beard-covered face. Even through his struggle to breathe, his next words froze the Ranger’s heart: 

“Valar, Aragorn! The elf… it… it’s the elf!”


	11. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING** : There will be some blood and reference to violence in this chapter.

**Chapter 11: Consequences**

_“Valar, Aragorn! It’s…it’s the elf!”_

Gimli’s words seized Aragorn in his tracks, and then the look of distress in the dwarf’s wide eyes turned to one of pain. 

“Aragorn…” he said tearfully, and when the Ranger still remained rooted to the spot, he yelled: “Move, man!”

Snapping out of his shocked stupor, Aragorn ran out of the tent after the dwarf with a feeling of terrible dread in his heart. Outside, he saw a group of Rohirrim gathered around a nearby tent. He felt his breath catch in his throat when he realized whose it was: the one Legolas and Gimli shared. With his heart hammering in his chest, he passed Gimli and covered the few yards with his long legs in seconds. He pushed aside the men to burst through the tent opening. 

Just inside the tent, a hand grabbed his arm, stopping him from going further. Aragorn found himself looking at the blanched face of Eomer, who swallowed and said: “Aragorn, you should not see this…”

The Ranger’s blood froze at the words, but he pulled his arm free of Eomer’s grip and walked forward. Gandalf, Theoden and three healers stood solemn and silent over some bedding, and when they noticed the presence of Aragorn, they blanched as Eomer had, and parted to let him through – to let him witness his worst nightmare.

On the bedding lay the still body of the elf prince Legolas – his blood painting the white linen red. Rumil knelt at the side of the lifeless form, draping himself over the unmoving chest and weeping audibly. 

The Ranger was frozen to the spot, and he felt his mind and his body separate. Numbly, he took in the bruised face in which blue glass eyes stared unblinking at nothing, vacant and unseeing. His own eyes looked at the bloody throat, where a rusty dagger had brought an end to the fair being’s breath, draining his life’s blood. Vaguely, he heard – as from a great distance – words from the speech of the others around him: _orcs – Wildmen – not certain – surprise – wanted to be alone – scream – too late..._

How had this happened? How? Just earlier that evening, the elf had been warm and beautiful and alive… 

Aragorn sank to his knees, weak and numb. He reached out a shaky hand – though it did not feel like his – to the pale, cold face, then to the red sticky liquid on the neck. How could this beautiful being that had brought joy and love to him for decades be so cold and still now? 

“Wake up, Legolas... please wake up,” his voice came, raspy and hardly above a whisper. He vaguely noticed Rumil lifting his head from Legolas’ chest, the elven eyes haunted, the face painted with fury. Aragorn could not understand why, but he did not care, and his own eyes remained fixed on Legolas’ blue ones, beautiful even in death. 

The Ranger’s blood-covered fingers stroked one pale cheek, leaving red streaks in their path. “Wake up, Legolas…” he called softly, as if it was some rosy morning in Imladris and he was trying to gently rouse his friend from sleep. “Why are you so still, Legolas? Why don’t you breathe?” he asked in a plaintive voice that tugged at the heartstrings of those listening. 

Then, as the man realized that the elf would not be waking, tears began to leak from his eyes. “Do not leave me, my love,” he sobbed. My love… my love… Aragorn thought bitterly how he had never dared to say those words when the elf was alive to hear them, and how he wished now that he had had the courage to do so earlier. “My love,” he breathed again, “let not the Halls of Mandos take you from me…” 

“You sent him there,” a bitter and tearful voice pronounced, and Aragorn turned to see Rumil’s accusing eyes on him. As the Ranger stared uncomprehendingly, the elf continued to berate him. “You insulted him, and he sought solitude!” 

“Rumil – ” Gandalf said gently, but the elf was too incensed to stop. 

“A passing fancy – that was all he was to you! And your words drove him to seek solace in the woods!” the Lorien elf spat at Aragorn. 

“Rumil!” 

Aragorn’s blood ran cold. _He heard?_ He realized with a shock, and looked at the lifeless face again. _I did not mean it, Legolas! I just meant I had no choice but to let you pass from my life! You misunderstood, my love – I never meant it!_

“If not for you, he would not have gone there – alone – and he would not be dead!” the elf finished. 

_Dead. Legolas was dead. Gone._

The truth hit Aragorn cruelly. 

Legolas was gone. And he had caused it – he had caused it! He had killed the only person he had ever loved. How could it have happened? How – ?

Suddenly, Aragorn cried out. He felt hands touching him, pulling at him, and he snapped. Who was trying to take him from his beloved? How dare they! He screamed, and he could not stop. Screaming filled him, it came out of him, it was all he could do. 

Hands tried to take him from Legolas’ side. Eomer, Theoden, Gimli, Gandalf… but no, he would not leave it. He drew his dagger and waved it wildly at everyone – at Rumil whom he hated now – and he made them leave, his screams still renting the air. 

And then he was alone with Legolas. 

He dropped the dagger and lowered himself to sit by the still form, kissing the pale cheeks with shaking lips. Shivering hands tried to remove the blood from the golden hair, blood that had come from the sliced throat, gaping wide and red, soaking the bed and the clothes with crimson. 

Then Aragorn raised his eyes to the ceiling of the tent and screamed one name: “Sarumaaaaan!" 

Over and over, he shouted the name, till there appeared before him again the white figure of the traitorous wizard. 

Aragorn stood and his eyes blazed with torment. “What have you done!” he demanded, agony lacing every word. 

Saruman did not flinch. “You said I should stop the bonding, did you not?” he asked calmly. “Well, I have.” Aragorn watched with incredulous eyes as the wizard pointed to the body. “He will not bond now.” 

Realization of the wizard’s treachery – and his own folly – struck Aragorn like a ton of bricks, and his mind went mad. With a yell, he rushed at Saruman, but in a puff of smoke and a resounding cackle of victory, the old man disappeared, leaving Aragorn to stare unbelieving into thin air and cursing both the wizard and himself to the very depths of his existence. 

\---------{{*}}----------

_The days and weeks following the death of the elf prince – my beloved Legolas – go by in a ghastly blur for me._

_I am dead in my heart. But the war goes on, so I have to go on as well._

_I lead the armies, we come to the Black Gate, and we hold Sauron’s attention as we have planned, hoping against hope to give Frodo and Sam the opportunity they need to destroy the Ring and end the reign of the Dark Lord._

_Who would believe it would work?_

_But it does. It is done. It is over. We are victorious and the Dark One is overthrown._

_Yet – I weep, for the golden elf who would have been at my side sees not the destruction of Mordor that he fought so hard to witness._

_I am crowned, and King Elessar Telcontar of the House of Strider is proclaimed ruler of Gondor amidst the joyous cheers of my people – just I have known I would be since the age of twenty. I wed the beautiful Evenstar, just like I have been prepared to do. And I beget heirs – just as I have told myself I would need to._

_But my beloved Legolas sees none of these events – what my people consider to be triumphs._

_Days and weeks and months and years flow by, and the sky over Gondor is always dim and depressing, devoid of light like the heart of its king._

_I am Elessar, the Elfstone of my people, and I grow increasingly morose and brooding, for I live with a terrible memory: a day when I let the dark powers guide my actions. And I force myself to go on without one who would have been the light of my life._

_Through the long years of my reign, the king that Gondor had waited for hundreds of years to welcome back turns into a careless, heartless ruler – mocked and hated by all. A poison eats into me, slowly but surely, till I am but a man who rants and goes mad. And now my people cannot wait to be rid of me._

_Enough, my people say. We need a king, not a living corpse; we need a leader who lives in the Present, not one who dwells in the Past._

_And in the darkest days of my rule, mobs come for me, to take my life and remove me from the throne. My guards protect me out of sheer duty, till I grow weary, and I am ready to yield to whatever end awaits me, for I no longer care._

_Do what you will to me, I say, for I am already dead. I died the day Legolas did._

_Now I stand on the ramparts of my Citadel so that the City below can see me._

_Now I hold out my arms wide and laugh – it is a bitter laugh that captures all the cruelty my life has dealt me, and the remorse I feel over my folly, and the despair that governs each moment of my being._

_And now, as my people watch, and my queen begs, and my children cry, I smile. And I throw myself from the heights of my rule into the depths of blackness and nothingness awaiting me… and as I fall, all I see is the white, lifeless face of an elf with cold glass eyes…_


	12. Coming to Terms

**Chapter 12: Coming to Terms**

“Aragorn… Aragorn… wake up…”

Voices... there were many voices... buzzing around him in anxiety.

“Gandalf, help him - will he be well?” A familiar voice pierced Aragorn’s awareness, and he forced himself to open his eyes just a little. Something bright – a golden river of hair – met his eyes, blocking out everything else. Nothing else seemed to matter.

Then something white came near. “He seems to be coming around now. Yes... I think so. The _palantir_ can have very powerful effects on one who handles it. Give him some time - he will wake.” Gandalf moved away from the Man and allowed the golden one to come near again.

Pippin’s voice could be heard chattering agitatedly in the background. “… like what happened to me...” Theoden was hovering nearby, and there too stood Rumil and Eomer. Gimli’s voice floated past, trying to explain to someone what had happened. “Awake last night… don’t know what happened after … foolish human… handling a thing like the _palantir_ …”

A gentle voice, thick with concern, was in his ear. “Estel?” it called. “Aragorn, wake up now. Please… speak to me.” Soft fingers touched his face.

The man’s heart leapt and beat wildly. That voice! That hair… those fingers… could it be…? How…? 

The fingers caressed his cheek and his brow again, and the touch broke through a barrier of agonizing disbelief. Tears began to leak uncontrollably from Aragorn’s tightly shut eyes as he trembled violently.

“Estel! Please – what is wrong? Wake up!” Real fear wrapped itself around the fair voice in his ear, and Aragorn could hear it. It was a familiar beloved voice – and long had it been since he heard it! What was happening? Was it truly him…?

Shudders raced through his body, but Aragorn forced himself to slowly open his eyes.

There, right above him, was the beautiful face and golden silk that had been lost to him. And there, too, were the glorious blue eyes that had been cold and glassy: now they were alive, soft, and overflowing with love. Legolas smiled down at him with his shining countenance, though anxiety still clouded his features.

The elf was alive again… beyond all hope, beyond all expectation… how, he did not know, but he drank in the sight and raised a tentative hand to cup the unblemished cheek.

“Legolas,” he whispered.

He knew they now had the attention of others in the room, but he did not care. He brought his other hand up as well and held the beloved face in a gentle grasp, afraid it would disappear.

The elegant brows of the elf prince knitted in a concerned frown. “Aragorn?” he called.

Aragorn found speech elusive, and he held onto his beloved, weeping irrepressible tears.

Legolas called to the Wizard: “Gandalf, please come here… something is wrong!” The elf tried to move aside for the wizard, but the man’s fingers were frozen upon his face.

Aragorn’s eyes would not leave Legolas – he did not know how he got here but he was afraid this was a dream and the elf would vanish and he would find himself back in that dark, dark world from which he had come.

“Aragorn?” Gandalf now bent over the Ranger, while others stood over them in growing concern. He laid a hand on the man’s brow as he had done earlier with Pippin, and he closed his eyes as he whispered healing words. As the moments passed, the man’s trembling began to slowly subside though the tears would not cease.

The wizard’s eyes suddenly snapped open, and a look of shock and alarm flashed over his wizened features. “By the Valar!” he breathed. He glanced up at the golden elf by his side and shuddered over the disturbing images he had seen in Aragorn’s mind.

“What, Gandalf? What is it?” the elf asked with panic in his voice, and Rumil came closer, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. Gimli and Theoden also crowded over them as the gravity of the situation became more evident.

Gandalf grasped Aragorn’s shoulders and shook them. “Aragorn, look at me! Look at me!” he demanded.

The man peeled his eyes off Legolas and turned slowly to face the wizard with a blank stare.

“It was all an illusion, Aragorn,” the old man said, enunciating each word deliberately. “All – an – illusion. The things you went through after I left you that night – they did not happen. They were not real.”

Comprehension was slow in coming for the man. He looked perplexed, but no less than all the others in the tent.

“You never met Saruman,” Gandalf continued speaking slowly and clearly. “You never made a deal with him, and all the consequences thereafter never took place.”

Aragorn blinked and shook his head disbelievingly, but the wizard took one of Legolas’ hands and placed it in the man’s.

“See?” he said firmly. “Feel that, Aragorn.”

The man looked down at the hand in his own and slowly, slowly relaxed. He reached up with his other hand and touched the elf’s face and neck. No cut, no blood.

Legolas was even more confused now. His fear was growing, but he kept his hand in Aragorn’s. The wizard tried to smile at the distraught elf.

“As I have explained to you, Legolas – the _palantir_ is a dangerous tool. Even though Aragorn mastered it, it affected him, twisted his mind, guided his actions - even in hallucination,” he explained. “He will be well, Legolas. He just needs some…time.”

Aragorn continued to stare at Legolas. He felt his breath slow as he wondered: was this real? _An illusion_ , the wizard had said. _An illusion…_

He had to find out. He had to. Swallowing and holding onto Legolas’ hand, he closed his eyes and opened them again.

The elf was still there.

Aragorn let out a breath. The elf was alive, truly alive. The brutal, horrible death – an illusion. All those years of torment – a living death – all an illusion. He felt weak with incredible relief and let out a choked sob of gratitude as he leaned back onto his pillow.

Legolas was alive, he was alive, he did not die – his death had been an illusion, and Aragorn felt like singing it out.

Then he gasped suddenly as he remembered something else: the visions! Not the ones of death, but those he had seen before Gandalf left that night.

Those visions remained. Legolas and Rumil. Pledging themselves to each other. They were real, were they not? And they would take place.

Bitter agony assaulted him again – an unwelcome flood that washed over him, its keenness waking him, making him feel the sharpness of loss once more.

And then, after the first painful cut of agony came a feeling of shame – a deep sense of shame at the thought of what he had done, or what he _would_ have done to stop the bonding: made the dark deal with Saruman and caused the death of the elf. It was all out of love, but what a twisted end it would have been because he had not dared to declare that love earlier.

He turned his face from the elf and wriggled out of his hold. His voice held bitter disappointment when he said: “Leave me, Legolas. Leave me.” Silently, he added: _I do not deserve you or your love. Rumil does. He is the better man._

Not hearing the self-reproach in his voice, everyone in the tent was taken aback, and the elf not the least. Once again he was being asked to leave, and he felt a twinge of hurt in his heart. But he wanted to give Aragorn one more chance.

“Aragorn… are you certain you want me to leave?”

The man, still full of shame, suddenly felt the need to talk to Gandalf, to ask him things he was too ashamed for anyone else to hear. He answered: “Yes. I wish to speak with Gandalf. Alone.”

Wizard and elf looked at each other, but the old man shook his head to indicate that he was just as puzzled as the other. Legolas’ expression hardened. Dejected once more, the elf released his hold on the man’s hand and straightened himself.

“Very well, Aragorn, I shall go,” he said softly, with much sorrow in his voice. He turned from the man and walked straight out of the tent opening without looking sideways at anyone.

Rumil threw Aragorn an incredulous look before setting his lips in a firm line and hurried after Legolas. He made a silent resolve in his heart, and he determined to see it through today.

The others – confused and uncomprehending – filed out silently and slowly as well. Only Gimli could be heard to mutter: “… lost his marbles…”

Finally alone with Gandalf, Aragorn asked him to relate all that had happened since that night.

Gandalf drew a deep breath. He decided to plunge straight into the heart of the matter.  
“You did not seem yourself since you came down from the grove, Aragorn,” he began. “We were talking, and… Legolas heard you call him a passing fancy.”

Aragorn’s eyes widened in alarm. “So it was true – even in the dark dreams, it was true. But I didn’t mean it! I didn’t – ”

“I know, I know, my friend,” the old man said placatingly, “and I went to explain to him that the Stone had corrupted your mind. He was relieved, and we came back here to talk to you. But then we found you unconscious – trapped in dark nightmares from which you could not wake. You were thrashing about before you fell silent and still, and we could not wake you.”

Aragorn still looked lost and shaken, and the wizard felt sorry for him.

“Sauron could not tempt you with the Ring, for you are still a strong, decent man, Aragorn,” Gandalf said, “so it sought to twist your mind with something that meant more to you than even the One Ring: Legolas. You saw what you would have done to make him yours. Thank the Valar it did not actually happen.”

Aragorn stared at the wizard, finding it hard to believe that the Stone could have been that powerful.

“Sauron’s magic is dark,” the old man continued, “and it made you see incredible things. But Legolas never died, you made no deal, and you have not yet become king.”

“It all seemed so real…” Aragorn said, his eyes dazed. “All those years…”

“None of that was real, Aragorn,” Gandalf insisted firmly.

Aragorn shook his head slowly, before he looked up at the wizard again – pain in his eyes. “But what about the promise Legolas made to Rumil – to bond with him – is that real? Will that be real?”

Gandalf sighed. “Whatever you saw in the Stone when you were in the grove – that was no trick, no lie. But I cannot say more. Just remember that the visions are a bad guide to action. Remember what it did to your mind.”

“All I know, Gandalf, is that I cannot live without him,” Aragorn stated sadly. “If there was one thing the Stone showed me that is real – it was that. I cannot live without him… in good times or bad. But cruel is the fate that dictates that I cannot bond with him because of Gondor.”

Gandalf sat up straighter and asked Aragorn a question that took the man aback: “Why not?”

Aragorn frowned and raised upturned palms. “Why not?” he repeated, wondering that Gandalf could not understand the reason. “Because of Gondor, because I have a responsibility to continue the bloodline, to bear heirs.”

Gandalf raised his eyebrows. “Are you certain, Aragorn?” he queried, and at the look of further perplexity on the man’s face, he pressed on: “What is your responsibility to Gondor?”

Before Aragorn could return with what the old man felt would be a stock answer, Gandalf asked again: “When you take away everything else, what is your ultimate responsibility to Gondor and Middle-earth?”

Aragorn knitted his brows and thought deeply about what the wizard was asking before he responded: “To deliver it from the Dark Lord.”

Gandalf smiled. “Exactly!” he pronounced. “It is to re-establish a line of kings: good, strong kings who will not fall prey to the Dark Forces again. But do you need to produce heirs for that purpose?”

Aragorn shook his head slowly, beginning to see what the wizard was driving at.

“No,” he replied. “Some of the Rangers share Numenorean blood, and Faramir is the son of the Steward; that bloodline has held Gondor faithfully and taken it through dark times. Any of them could provide Gondor with a line of kings…”

Gandalf nodded. “Does it matter to you that your own sons continue that line after you depart? Or is it enough to you that you return Gondor to its days of glory and freedom from Sauron?”

“It is enough,” Aragorn said firmly. “It does not matter to me who comes after I do – as long as he is a good ruler.”

Gandalf clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder, a broad smile shining through his white beard. “Then you have the answer to the conflict within your heart,” he declared.

Aragorn felt as if a hundred tons had been lifted off his shoulders: a load he had made himself bear all these decades. He wondered why he had not seen all this before, and his spirits soared. He could bond with Legolas like he wished – and it would not matter to him! He would be a good ruler, and if his people wanted him, they would have to accept his mate. And if they did not – he would give up the throne readily – he would have done his duty to free them from Sauron’s power. He felt lighter and freer than he had for many, many years.

Then a thought struck him.

“Arwen,” he uttered, turning disturbed eyes to Gandalf. “What about Arwen? She has given me her pendant…”

Gandalf shook his head and looked at Aragorn steadily. “It is just a pendant,” he said. “You have not… bonded with her… have you?

Feeling a little embarrassed, Aragorn shook his head. “No.”

“Then her immortality has not been lost yet,” the wizard assured him.

Aragorn sighed in relief, and after a moment’s hesitation, he removed the pendant from around his neck, placing it and the chain carefully on the bedding. He would return it later to the beautiful elleth, with his affection, but not his love, not the love he felt for Legolas...

“Do you still desire to be with him?” Gandalf’s voice disrupted his thoughts.

Aragorn answered readily. “There is nothing I want more. My life could not go on without him, and if Legolas were bonded with anyone else, I might as well not be king, for my own heart would turn hard and merciless, and I would be a terrible ruler. I have seen it.”

“Then go and look for him now,” the wizard told him, “I do not know exactly what you saw in those visions, but if there is a chance that Rumil will ask him to bond, you must make Legolas see what you feel so that he can choose. Go now. Once he says yes to Rumil, all will be too late. He will not break his word.”

Aragorn’s heart fell as he recalled his vision. “But the Stone showed him accepting…”

“I do not know more than what I already know from you, Aragorn,” the wizard said impatiently. “Just go! I will ask the others if they have seen him. Come, hurry.”

The old man got up and exited the tent in a flurry of white. Aragorn hurried after him, then hesitated at the tent flap and turned back. He walked over to his pack and rummaged through it to retrieve two objects, followed by something that he grabbed from his bedding.

 _If all goes well, these will help me convince Legolas of the seriousness of my love,_ he thought.

For a second more, he lamented the absence of a fourth item, but then an idea came to him, and he went outside.

Gandalf stood in front of the tent with an irate dwarf and two excited hobbits. One look at faces told him that Gandalf had informed them about what was happening.

“Well, it’s about time!” the dwarf grumbled and pointed to the woody rise above the camp. “The elf and that persistent Rumil headed in the direction of the place you were in that night.” Then he turned back to the Ranger and continued his chastisement. “That chap from Lorien is probably doing what you should be doing were you not such a fool!”

Merry hopped about excitedly and smirked. “I’m just a hobbit, but the hobbit was right after all!” he said smugly.

“Right about what? Huh?” Pippin asked cluelessly, but Gimli and Merry ignored him.

Both chagrined and amused, Aragorn wanted to smack each of his friends, but he had to admit they were right. Meekly, he said to Gimli: “In time, I shall give you high praise for your wisdom, but right now, I need your help, my friend,” and Aragorn quickly explained what he needed.

When he had finished explaining, everyone laughed, but Gimli was quick to comply. He immediately peeled off his tunic, and Merry stepped in to help.

After some quick work, Aragorn was ready to go.

“Go for it, man,” the dwarf said, clapping him on the back, and Gandalf said: “May the Valar be with you.”

As Aragorn smiled in gratitude and strode off, he could hear Pippin asking: “What was that for? Why does he need that? Huh?”

And he could hear Gimli and Merry groaning and dragging the hobbit away, no doubt to teach him some lessons about life.

\--------{{*}}----------

Running as if his life depended on it – and indeed, he was coming to terms with this feeling that Legolas held his heart in his shapely elven hands – Aragorn ascended the rise to the grove of trees he had been in before. The sun shone through the foliage on the clearing he had occupied – but no elf was in sight.

Aragorn frowned. Where were they?

He began to panic, fearing he would reach them too late, after Legolas said yes to Rumil… He shook his head and told himself to think clearly. What else had he seen in the visions?

He closed his eyes and recalled the images – what else had there been? What else? 

What… A mistiness! There had been a mist behind Legolas … like vapor… Water! That was it – they had to be near the fall he had heard on his first night here.

With his heart thumping, he listened for the sound of water with his sharp Ranger’s ears and detected it. He immediately set out in the direction of the sound and followed it till it became got louder and louder. The wood was a little thicker here, and the elves were nowhere in sight. Now he was climbing up a rise, and as soon as he could see over the edge – he suddenly saw them, a few yards away.

There they stood – two fair beings facing each other, with Legolas’ back to the water. He knew they could not hear him because of the noise of the fall, and so focused were they on something Rumil was saying that they had not noticed him yet.

Aragorn’s heart raced at the sight of his beloved, and he took a moment to make himself overcome his feelings of guilt and to garner the courage to call his name.

But then he saw Rumil take Legolas’ hands – just like he had in the vision – and as he watched like one struck dumb, he saw Rumil look intently at the golden elf and say something. And though he could not hear them over the noise of the water, Aragorn knew exactly what the words were.

His heart clenched, and he tried to call out to the one he loved, but no voice emerged from his throat. Then, as he looked at the two elves, he saw how beautiful they looked together, gold and brown, slender and tall – and immortal – and he suddenly felt completely unworthy of Legolas. He felt like a terrible, indecent intruder – robbing Legolas of a happy future with a like being.

 _But…but what if Legolas does not know how much I love him and he says yes to Rumil because of that?_ he asked himself. Had not the golden elf once said that he would have chosen Aragorn? Yes, yes – he had said that! He had to tell Legolas the truth – then let him decide.

But before he could step out and utter anything, he saw Legolas say something in reply to Rumil, and then his slender arms enclosed Rumil in a tender embrace.

Aragorn’s heart dropped, and all the things he had brought with him fell from his hands. He sank limply to his knees, and his tears fell freely as he asked himself: _Have I come too late?_


	13. Moment of Truth

**Chapter 13: Moment of Truth**

_All is lost,_ Aragorn thought as he looked at the objects that had fallen on to the ground. They were of no use to him any more. 

_I have lost the only thing that truly matters to me – the one perfect thing in my life,_ he thought in despair, _and perhaps I was never worthy of him in the first place._

He wiped the tears from his eyes and pushed himself off his knees. He stood shakily, holding to the tree next to him for support. On the other side of the tree were the two elves, and he could not bear to look at them again. He turned to leave, hoping not to be seen; at least he could have a little dignity left. 

But dignity flew away with the wind when he stepped on a large twig and announced his presence with a loud crack. He cursed softly and immediately tried to scurry away as discreetly as he could. He had not taken more than three steps, however, before he heard an elven voice call: “Aragorn?” 

He whipped round to see the two elves – surprise painted on their face – looking at him, their knives drawn. A fleeting look of joy passed Legolas’ face before it was replaced by a schooled expression of indifference – as if the elf remembered something – but on Rumil’s face came a hint of scorn. 

“I am sorry to intrude,” Aragorn said, and turned to leave. 

“There is no need for you to leave, Aragorn,” Legolas’ voice halted him, and he turned around again to look into startling blue eyes. He thought he saw a spark of hope in them, which quickly turned to disappointment which was also reflected in the elf’s next words: “But I suppose you wish to be alone again…” The voice trailed off. 

“Come, Legolas, let us return to the camp,” Rumil said, taking the elf prince’s elbow.

The Lorien elf’s words sparked something in Aragorn – anger at himself, anger at circumstances that had prevented him from pursuing his love much earlier on – and he suddenly felt he had to tell Legolas everything he felt, even if it was too already too late. He had held back for too long, but before he lost the love of his life for ever, he would make Legolas hear all that had been hidden in his heart.

“No, Legolas, please stay,” Aragorn said, stepping forward, with a pleading look in his eyes. “Please stay,” he repeated. He did not know what he was doing – what right he had to press Legolas to remain, but he fisted his hands and waited hopefully. 

Legolas’ eyes gazed unblinkingly at him, a little confused. Rumil stared at him too, a hint of disdain in his look, but his question was meant for the elf beside him: “Do you wish to stay, Legolas?’ 

The Mirkwood prince lowered his eyes at the question, torn between staying and leaving. A sudden surge of guilt washed over Aragorn and he felt the need to apologise. 

“Rumil, I’m sorry – please allow me a little time with your betrothed,” he said sadly. “I will disturb you no more after that.”

At his words, Legolas’ head shot up again, and Rumil’s mouth fell open. They turned to exchange a look with each other before turning back to Aragorn. For a few awkward moments, no one spoke. Then Rumil took a deep breath, and the Ranger prepared himself for a string of furious words from the elven lips – but he was astonished to receive instead a slow, sad smile, and in it seemed to be written sympathy, understanding, and sincerity. 

The handsome elf looked at Aragorn a moment longer before turning to Legolas to place a hand lightly on his cheek, and to smile at him in sadness. He nodded to the prince, who gave a small smile in return, and then he made a move to leave the place. But before he did, he approached Aragorn and said softly: “I envy your fortune, Aragorn. Do not waste this treasure that is served to you on a silver platter – for if you do, you will find no lack of others who will rush to accord it the adulation it deserves.” Then he nodded briefly and left. 

Aragorn stared at Rumil’s retreating figure, feeling both wretched and furious. Was it not enough that he had lost Legolas? Did Rumil have to remind him? Aragorn tasted bitterness in his mouth. _You’ve won the most wonderful elf in Middle-earth, Rumil, while I live on to regret what I had not the courage to fight for before,_ he thought. The man looked at the love of his life, and his heart broke to think that this love now belonged to someone else. 

And now that he was alone with Legolas, he felt awkward, not knowing where to begin. The prince had lowered his head again, staring at the leaves beneath his light shoes.

Aragorn walked over to the fair being and reached out with a hesitant hand to touch the smooth cheek, expecting the elf to pull away, for he knew Legolas – with his sense of decency – would not betray his betrothed. But to his surprise, Legolas made no such move, and remained still. Knitting his brows, Aragorn lifted the chin and made the elf look at him. 

The blue eyes were awash with tears, even as his own grey ones began to fill. 

“Legolas,” he breathed. The elf closed his eyes and sighed, a trail of tears running down either cheek and melting the man in front of him. “Legolas… I…” Aragorn began again and stopped, lost for words. Helplessly, he touched the salty trails on the smooth cheeks with his calloused fingers – and still the elf did not pull away.

Hope flared in him. Could he win Legolas back? 

Then the elf’s words – uttered softly – cut into his heart more deeply than a steel blade could: “Have you nothing to say to this passing fancy of yours, Aragorn?” 

Pain clouded the man’s eyes, and he sucked in a breath. His stoic front crumbled, and he pulled the elf firmly into his arms as he pleaded into the delicate elven ear next to his lips: “Oh, please don’t say that, Legolas. I never meant it - never! I was under some dark spell, and I felt I did not deserve to hold on to you. Please – please believe me! Please…” 

Holding the elf tightly, he wept into the fragrant hair, and his shuddering breaths shook his frame. But he had begun, and he would not stop now. He buried his face in the soft gold silk and poured his heart out, hoping the elf could hear his words in between his strangled sobs. 

“I’ve loved you for so long, Legolas… even before I became a man… Lord Elrond told me you were just a… a fancy… that would pass… but… it never did… it never did… and I never stopped loving you… I have never loved anyone… but you… I love you, I love you… and I should have told you this… what a fool…” 

Aragorn heard the elf let out a deep breath then, and say his name like a sighing of the wind, and he felt the slender arms tighten around him. He leaned into the embrace, the keen sorrow almost killing him. He felt his own shoulder becoming wet, and he knew that Legolas was also weeping with him. 

_Oh cruel fate,_ he thought bitterly, _what a cruel waste that I came too late!_

“Forgive me, my love,” he lamented tearfully. “Forgive me for coming too late. I was a fool, and I allowed Rumil to take that which is most precious to me.” 

He felt Legolas suddenly gasp and stiffen, trying to draw apart from him, but he would not let go. No, he might never have the chance to hold his beloved again, and if this was wrong, then let him bear the consequences – for this one last time to have the elf in his arms. 

“Please, Legolas, let me hold you, please,” he whispered into the elven ear, “before he takes you from me for ever.” 

“Estel… Estel…” came the fair voice in his ear, and the man thought it like the singing of the Ainur. “Hold me then. Hold me as long as you like, my beloved – for I am not Rumil’s, and he can never take me from you.” 

Aragorn had never reacted as fast in his entire life as he did at that moment. It was he now who drew back to stare at Legolas’ beautiful, teary face, not believing what he had just heard. 

“What?” he asked incredulously, his grey-blue eyes wide. 

Through his tears, the golden elf smiled sweetly and placed a kiss on the tip of the man’s nose. “Rumil asked me to be his mate,” he said shyly, “but I told him I could not – for my heart has already been given to another. And I cannot get it back.”

Aragorn’s lips remained parted in surprise as he continued to stare at Legolas. “Do you mean that?” he breathed, hardly daring to hope. “You did not accept him as your mate?” 

The elf nodded, smiling. “I could not do it, for I have but one chosen one – I have told you this.” 

Aragorn swallowed. “Me, Legolas? You would still choose me?” 

“There has never been another, Estel,” the elf replied quietly, “I have loved you for a long time, too, and I love you still, even though I can never hope to compete with Gondor, with your desti – ” 

The rest of the words were muffled in a sudden, passionate kiss as the future king of Gondor showed the elf just how he could compete with – and win over – what both of them had thought necessary for the future of the Realm. In his human heart that was beginning to mend, sang the same song over and over: _Thank you, thank you that he is still free to be mine!_

They clung to each other, pouring all their grief and fear and joy into the desperate union of lips and tongues and breaths, and neither needed to hear anything said for many minutes. Hands and fingers clutched fiercely at clothing and hair, and very inch of their chests and stomachs and thighs were pressed together in testimony to how much each had missed the other. 

Man and elf eventually eased their lips apart, but their foreheads and noses were still pressed against each other, unwilling to lose the long-absent contact. Their tears were now tears of quiet joy, each aware of the precious love they had just confessed. 

Then Aragorn gently lowered them both to the grassy ground and he sat against the trunk of the tree, his arms securely around the beloved elf on his lap. And beneath the friendly boughs, with a gentle breeze caressing them, the man told the elf all that had happened to him since the night he first held the _palantir_ and dared to challenge the Dark Lord. He spoke of his dark dreams and his fears and the blind manner in which he let the Stone guide him towards a horrifying act. 

“I was willing to make that terrible deal with Saruman just to stop you from bonding,” he confessed, bowing his head in shame. “I gave up the _palantir_ , and you… you died.” The horrible memory assailed him and he hid his face against the elf’s chest. 

The elf stroked his hair lovingly and whispered: “It was not real, Estel… let it not overwhelm you now, my love. I am here with you.” 

Aragorn raised his head and looked into the mesmerizing eyes, as if to convince himself they truly were alive, not glassy and lifeless… 

“Sauron tried to use those visions to break my will and strength, so that I would forget about Gondor and give up this war,” the man said, “and in a way, it did. But he did not think it would bring about some good.” 

When Legolas’ face showed incomprehension, the man continued: “It showed me to what lengths I would go to make you mine, Legolas.” He placed a soft kiss on the elven lips and rubbed a hand gently against the elf’s back. “I was a fool not to have seen it before, or it would have saved us both a lot of heartache. Now I know I don’t have to do anything as drastic as give up the _palantir_ to have the one I love by my side. I only need to give up the notion that Gondor must have heirs from my body…” 

Legolas started at those words. “What do you mean?” he breathed. He had not forgotten Aragorn’s position as the heir of Isildur who needed to re-establish peace in Gondor. The elf looked hard at the man’s face, waiting for an explanation.

Aragorn did not answer immediately but shifted the elf off his lap so that he could get to his feet, helping Legolas to do the same. When he was standing erect before Legolas, he took both the elf’s hands in his and held them lovingly. 

“I am still committed to freeing Middle-earth and Gondor from Sauron, beloved,” he stated, noting the sad acceptance in Legolas’ nod. “But after that – they can either accept me as King with my own choice of mate, not a queen, and have someone else worthy take over the throne when I grow too old and step down. Or, they can choose some other King from the start; it matters not to me. What matters, Legolas, is having you by my side, till the end of my days.” 

As surprise painted itself on the elf’s face, Aragorn added earnestly so that there would be no doubt as to the genuineness of his intentions: “I am no longer a young man, Legolas, and no one can tell me to wait any longer, for the Valar know I have waited too long. So – if you would have this unworthy Man as your mate, Prince Legolas – I beg you to bind yourself to me.”

The blue eyes widened in shock, and when the lovely lips began to form a word, Aragorn already knew what it would be: “Arwen…?” 

The man was ready with his answer. “We are not bonded yet,” he said easily. “As I have told you – I made her no promises. The Evenstar can be returned with no dire consequences.” 

“But… you are certain about Gondor, Estel?” Legolas asked, his head still swimming with the unexpected turn of events. “Will you regret it one day –?” 

“Nay, _meleth nin,_ ” the man replied, and he loved how the words sounded on his tongue; he had wasted too many years afraid to call Legolas that, though he had said it silently in his dreams thousands of times: _my love, my dearest love._ “The only regret I will have is if I live the rest of my life without you as my spouse, my beloved. One thing that the accursed visions have shown me is that in any age, in any reality – no matter what the circumstances – the one thing that remains constant is my love for you and my need of you, just as it has remained an undying flame through these past seven decades. I have seen what my life would be without you.” The man swallowed and asked: “Will you have pity on this poor soul, Legolas, and find it in your pure elven heart to bond with me?”

For a few moments, Aragorn waited nervously for the answer; then his heart almost stopped when Legolas replied: “Nay, Aragorn.”

Feeling suddenly weak, he almost sank to his knees again, but the elf tightened his hold on the man’s hands and added: “Nay, not because I pity you, my noble Aragorn, for there is nothing to pity – but because I love you with all that is in me.” 

Aragorn’s heart leapt again, and as he gazed at Legolas, he saw the very scene that had played before him in the _palantir_ : the elf’s eyes shiny with tears, the misty vapor behind the golden halo, the breathtakingly perfect smile in a perfect face. His spirits soared even before the elf spoke, for he knew now that the Stone did not lie – the unseen one standing before the elf in the vision was he himself – and now he knew what the answer would be: 

“My heart is already yours… my Estel, my Aragorn... Yes, I will bond with you.”

Speechless with joy for a moment, Aragorn reached into the pocket of his tunic and pulled out a small object that he held in the closed palm of his hand. He took Legolas’ left hand in his and found his voice, saying in a sheepish tone that the elf found completely endearing:

“I could not find anything suitable in this land and time of war, my love, so – I had to… um… take this from Gimli’s chain mail… but I will replace it with a proper one when we come into our own, when Gondor is ready to receive her king and consort.” 

Then the man produced between his fingers a simple ring of light metal removed from the many that made up the protective vest of the dwarf, and slipped it onto the fair slender finger of the elf prince: a reminder of the violent times in which this bond had been pledged; but to Legolas, it was one of the most beautiful gifts he had ever received, and the elf kissed Aragorn as if he had been presented with the biggest gem in Arda.   
The simple circle of metal remained among the elf’s treasures for the rest of his years with his soul-mate. 

Aragorn could swear that the trees in the grove that day sighed in delight and swayed their branches in the joy of the troth between man and elf – reached after many decades of tears and loneliness and sacrifice, and the sweetness of the kiss they shared then went unrivalled for years after, for it was a kiss to mark the fulfillment of an impossible dream. 

When they finally drew apart, Legolas kept his arms around the neck of his betrothed and gazed into the smiling eyes. “Aragorn…” he whispered.

“Yes, _meleth?_ ” the man whispered back tenderly. 

“I have a question for you.” The tone was almost teasing.

The man cocked his head in curiosity. “What is it, my darling?” 

The elf grinned and asked: “Those things you brought here and dropped on the ground: what are they for?” 

Aragorn’s eyes widened before he threw his head back and laughed – a heartfelt, exultant laugh that echoed among the trees. He stepped back and retrieved the three items: he tucked his blanket under one arm, and held his soap and a container of salve in his large palm. He wrapped the other arm around the slim shoulders of his betrothed and whispered into the elven ear: 

“We have unfinished business, my beautiful one. These items are meant to help us finish it, and there is a pool here where we can do just that.” 

The beautiful elf could only blush as the man led him hither.


	14. The Union

**Chapter 14: Union**

_Can this be truly happening to me?_

_This magical scene in a forest, with trees sheltering us, a pine-scented wind kissing our faces, gentle ripples waiting patiently to caress our skins – and the most beautiful elf in Middle-earth, nay, in any world I may be in – standing in front of me, pledging himself to me…_

_Can this be real: the dreamy blue eyes, fringed by long dark lashes, set in a porcelain face that could only have been designed by One with perfection in mind… looking at me as if I was his world?_

_Are they finally mine now: these soft, inviting lips that part demurely to release sweet breath, pearly teeth that nibble oh so lightly on my own lips, and awaken desire in me?_

_Yes, the lips whisper delicately, yes, this is real, and I waste no time in claiming them… so sweet… so delicious... their taste making me hunger for more and fanning the flames of desire in me into a roar._

_But I make myself slow down and take my time, for I have waited seven decades without hope – and I wish to make these moments of unexpected blessing last for me, for him whom I love and adore…_

_I wait and watch as he removes each layer of my Ranger attire with nimble fingers... fingers that leave a trail of fire wherever they touch me…_

\--------{{*}}-------- 

_His bronze skin over taut muscles, his soft dark hair, his firm chest, his strong arms – they draw my fingers to them and invite my own arms around them; they are as food for my parched soul – feeding the yearning I have felt for so long but resigned myself to being without._

_His arms make me feel safe, even though I am a seasoned fighter; they make me feel wanted as I have never been wanted in the near-thousand years of my life…_

_His eyes – burning with desire – bore into mine as he watches me unclothe him, and he does not see me blush a little as I reach the top of his leggings. It was dark at Helm’s Deep when I first saw him naked as the man of my dreams – but now… he shall be revealed to me in clarity…_

_My fingers shake a little as they undo the laces, and it does not help that my eyes are focused on the bulge below. But now they are undone… and so am I as the leggings slide down his strong thighs and his manhood springs free._

_I gasp and look up, and am immediately captured in another passionate kiss…_

\--------{{*}}-------- 

_Mmmm… I shall never taste anything as delicious as the lips of my beloved.  
But it is now my turn. _

_Reluctantly, I release those luscious lips from my own, for I wish to see and savor the revelation of perfection when I unclothe him. Before, it had been in darkness when I beheld him naked near the pool above Helm’s Deep – but today, I wish to feast my starved eyes upon that which is precious beyond measure, offered to me beyond my wildest hopes._

_My trembling fingers divest him slowly of the attire that fall so gracefully from his shoulders, to expose white, milky skin that I swear tastes creamy on my worshipping tongue and lips. His eyes glaze with desire, and I smile with pride to know it is I – this mortal – who is unwrapping this beautiful gift from Eru..._

_But it is not yet complete – and my lips move down, slowly downwards, to the top of his leggings – to loosen the ties with my teeth, making him squirm._

\--------{{*}}-------- 

_The slow, sensuous journey of Aragorn’s strong hands and lips across my body, tracing their way down to the center of my passion – is music played to perfection. They find hidden strings and pluck them so that they burst into song and sing with pleasure… Notes are teased forth, and they dance around and with each other into a melody of rapture, and it builds oh so gradually, so sweetly, awaiting a refrain that will surely come…_

_\--------{{*}}--------_

_His elfhood – fair and slender as he is – will be wonderful in my mouth, I know. I can hardly wait… but I do so, for I wish – as I told him – to finish what we started in the other pool._

_Restraining myself from taking him there and then, I hold his hand and lead him into the pool. He follows willingly, a slight blush on the fair cheeks. He knows what is coming…_

\--------{{*}}-------- 

_Aaaah… it feels so good. I feel we are washing away the dark memories of the last two days, cleansing ourselves of the pain and torment we went through. Our hands lather and brush over every inch of each other’s body…_

\--------{{*}}-------- 

_His lips are enslaved by mine once more, while under the water, I wrap my hungry fingers around his elfhood, stroking it to hear his groans in my mouth, leaving it to hold the tender sacs beneath and elicit more groans… Oh it feels so good to hold these treasures in my hands… treasures I almost lost to another._

_The thought drives me to desperation, and I kiss him harder and deeper while I return to claim his slender being and stroke it again. My other hand grasps the perfect globe of one cheek under the water as I move my other hand – slowly, now faster as his breath quickens, and faster and faster till I feel his wet warmth shoot from him and he clutches my shoulders fiercely and bites my lips in the throes of his pleasure, whimpering my name helplessly – making me feel wonderful. He grows limp in my arms, and I am happy to hold him till his breathing slows, and the spasms of pleasure subside and he whispers: “Oh Estel…. aaahhh…”_

_I smirk at him and say: “One part of our unfinished business is concluded. Now, for the rest…” ___

\--------{{*}}-------- 

__Legolas grinned teasingly at the man and wriggled out of his arms, walking away slowly while keeping his eyes and smile locked invitingly on the bemused Ranger’s face._ _

__Every part of Aragorn’s body tingled with anticipation, when the elf suddenly submerged himself in the water and was quickly lost to sight. The Ranger was both amused at the elf’s antics but also impatient with want, and he growled when the elf did not reappear after what seemed to be minutes._ _

__Legolas was still nowhere to be seen, and the man began to look around a little worriedly, but just as he was about to call out to the elf, the ethereal being surfaced slowly and gracefully like a nymph in the sunlight. His face glistening with drops of fresh water, he gracefully tilted his head back so that his golden hair floated around him like a golden lily leaf. His eyes were closed, his lips parted in a sigh, and his long, pale neck all but invited the man’s teeth and lips to sink themselves into a sumptuous feast of elven skin and flesh._ _

__Aragorn sucked in a breath and felt his heat grow even in the cool waters of the pool._ _

__“You are beautiful, Legolas,” he said softly. In a daze, Aragorn made his way to the elf and looked longingly upon the profiled face tilted upwards, studying its fine features. He traced one finger along the contour of the elven jaw to its chin and down along the smooth neck, mesmerized by the creamy skin and graceful lines._ _

__Legolas gasped and opened his eyes that were beginning to cloud over with his own desire. Under the water, the elf’s arm circled the waist of the man at his side, and he smiled up at him, making the man forget his own name._ _

__“Thank you, Aragorn, for leading me here,” he breathed. “This feels good... this feels so mmph –”_ _

__The elf’s words were muffled in the fierce kiss that came from Aragorn’s demanding lips. The man was devoid of all senses except his ravenous hunger for the taste of the elven mouth beneath his. He rested the back of the elf’s head in the crook of his left elbow and pulled it closer to deepen the kiss, wrapping the other hand around the elf’s smooth torso. The little moans from Legolas spurred him to greater heights of passion, and his right hand began to caress the elf’s jaw and throat before moving down to the shoulder and one taut nipple._ _

__He pinched the nipple and felt the elf gasp. Wasting no time, Aragorn began to consume the sweetness of Legolas’ mouth, branding it with his tongue and teeth. He felt the elf’s arm tighten around his waist and dig his fingers into the flesh, while the other hand threaded its fingers through the dark hair of the bent head._ _

__Aragorn broke off the kiss and plunged his lips against the fair skin of the stretched throat, nipping it in various places and sucking on the skin where the elven jaw met the delicate ear. Breathing heavily, Aragorn licked all along the throat toward the depression between the elf’s collar bones and paused there to run his tongue in the depression. The little whimpers from Legolas encouraged Aragorn, and he moved his mouth downwards into the water to grab one of the submerged elven nipples with his teeth and lips, sucking on it without breathing in._ _

__“Aaahhh, Aragorn…” the elf moaned, writhing beneath the man’s teasing tongue and hands. His hand moved downwards from the man’s waist to cup one of the rounded buttocks, kneading it._ _

__Aragorn brought his head out of the water and breathed, enjoying the glazed look in Legolas’ eyes. He grinned and moved in front of the elf, wrapping both arms around the fair being. “Now, finish what you started at Helm’s Deep,” he ordered huskily._ _

__Legolas grinned, and taking a deep breath, he sank into the water and started teasing the man’s stomach and abdomen, grazing his teeth gently along the smooth skin, making the Ranger squirm helplessly. Aragorn groaned, his fingers digging wildly into the elf’s back and hair, going mad with the sensation of what was happening underwater._ _

__Legolas came up again for air, and at the sight of the man’s wet lips, the elf seized them, moaning Aragorn’s name into the kiss. His hand groped under the water and found what it was looking for. It closed around a hot shaft of desire and began to stroke it, making the man growl and kiss him back roughly. So passionate was the kiss that Legolas thought he would just melt and dissolve in the swirling water..._ _

__But he controlled himself and soon left the Ranger’s lips to sink once more into the wetness below. A moment later, Aragorn cried aloud when he felt the elf’s lips close over his own turgid flesh below the surface, and he went wild when he looked down and found that he could see nothing of what the elf was doing, for the golden hair spread on the surface and hid everything tantalizingly. Aragorn began to move, trying to go deeper into the hot cavity of the elven mouth and wondering how long his beloved could stay under water._ _

__His silent question was soon answered when Legolas came up spluttering and catching his breath. He had been under a longer time than any human – but not long enough for Aragorn’s liking._ _

__“Estel, if I were but a fish,” the elf declared in a tone of apology, which made the man laugh and capture the elf’s mouth again._ _

__Breaking off the kiss, the man cupped the elven face in his hands and said: “We cannot be what we are not, but there is more than one way to finish the business.” Leaving the elf no chance to utter a rejoinder, he scooped the light form easily in his arms and waded quickly back to dry land._ _

__He gently lowered the dripping elf onto the blanket he had spread on the grass before they entered the pool – and before the elf would say or do anything, the man had straddled him, holding him captive with his weight._ _

__Aragorn’s eyes grew tender as they gazed into the blue ones looking up at him, and a serious expression came over his face._ _

__“My love,” he said hesitantly, “I wish to… would you… may I…”_ _

__The elf’s fine eyebrows knitted in puzzlement while he waited for the man to utter what was obviously a question. “Just say it, Aragorn,” he prompted gently._ _

__The man drew a deep breath and asked his question in a rush. “I know I do not deserve you Legolas but I wish to be one with you would you let me?”_ _

__The elf almost laughed at the man’s nervousness, but the look of want in Aragorn’s eyes – and the fact that he had respected the elf enough to ask first – made Legolas feel a great surge of love for him, and he answered: “There is nothing I want more right now, my Estel, my Aragorn, my love – I give myself to you.”_ _

__A huge sigh of pleasure left the man’s lips, and he smiled broadly while reaching for the container of salve he had brought._ _

__“This salve is used for healing,” the man explained while scooping out a generous amount onto his fingers, “but today, my love, you shall find out what else it can be used for.”_ _

__The elf suddenly sat up and slender fingers grasped Aragorn’s, abruptly stopping their movements, and the man looked up to see the elf swallowing nervously, a hint of fear in the blue eyes._ _

__“What is it, sweet one?” Aragorn asked gently. “Are you afraid?” There was a tinge of disappointment in his voice, but if Legolas wished to wait, he would comply with whatever the elf decided. Then – as he realized what this hesitation might also mean, a sense of panic washed over him, and he felt his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth as he forced himself to ask the question: “Have you… have you… changed your mind… about… bonding with me?”_ _

__“No!” the elf replied immediately, to the man’s immense relief. “No, Aragorn, do not ever think that! It is just that… that…” Legolas was clearly struggling to put his misgiving into words, and Aragorn – now reassured of the elf’s commitment – found himself smiling amusedly and waiting patiently._ _

__The elf finally sighed and blurted it out. “When I was an elfling, the healers used a salve on me, and it smarted. It burned terribly. If… if you are going to use it where I think you are planning to use it, it will… it will hurt… will it not?”_ _

__The blue eyes looked at Aragorn so plaintively that the man could not resist capturing the elven lips in a quick, comforting kiss. When he released them, he smiled at the worried face before him and explained: “Your healers must not have used the kind of salve Lord Elrond has developed. This one – ” he said, holding his hands close to the elf’s nose, “uses an oil base, and is completely mild. Smell it.”_ _

__Shyly, the elf sniffed the salve on Aragorn’s fingers, and was comforted by the sweet fragrance of it. There was no hint of anything that threatened to burn his skin, especially where he thought the man’s fingers might go._ _

__“I would not use _anything_ that I thought might cause you pain, _meleth_ ,” the Ranger asserted. “Trust me. I love you.” His tone seemed to have driven his message home, and he was rewarded with a smile and a nod from his beloved as the elf lay down again._ _

__Keeping the blue eyes locked on his own, the man reached down and felt gently for the elf’s opening beyond the tender sacs. His fingers paused when they found it, and he slowly inserted one, then two, to stretch the hot channel bit by bit. He watched the blue eyes harden first with the pain of intrusion, then gradually soften as the elven body became used to the pressure and enjoyed it, so that when the Ranger removed his fingers, Legolas was ready to receive the sword of his betrothed._ _

__Aragorn positioned himself above his beloved, and in the space before he joined himself to the elf of his dreams, he poured his heart into the words he uttered: “I love you, Legolas, and my body, heart and soul belong to you even as I claim yours.” With that, he crushed his lips onto the elven ones and sheathed himself into the hot, delicious channel of the beautiful elf, becoming one with him.  
The trees witnessed their dance of love that day, and smiled as they moved in rhythm, gentle with care and hard with passion. The elf held tightly onto the man above him, digging into his shoulders and back and moaning in pleasure as Aragorn withdrew and plunged again and again into his treasure, the pace and the passion growing with each thrust._ _

__Then at last – seven decades of hidden want, suppressed need, and lasting love exploded into the heat of the elven body, rocking them both with exquisite pleasure, the spasms lifting them till they felt nothing – no earth nor grass nor wind – nothing but each other, suspending them on a plane of pure and utter ecstasy – where two had truly, finally, become one._ _

__And only after the swirling, vibrant colors of their peaking had subsided and paled into gentle, restful pastels, and their names – each cried out by the other in the fever of passion – had stopped echoing among the trees, did they descend back to earth – slowly, slowly – to lie in peaceful contentment, cradled by the confidence that they would belong only to each other. For long, long years afterward, it was the memory of these moments – when they first fulfilled a desire of a lifetime – that warmed them when they were apart, and saw them through rough times when regal duties took their toll and made them forget, for a while, their hard-bought union._ _

__They lay together in the warmth of the sunshine and the cool shade of trees for hours, talking and touching and sharing more passion. That day, Aragorn, too, gave himself to his betrothed in turn, and they loved till the shadows grew long and their bodies called for more than physical pleasure. And only then did they rise and bathe again to dress and make their way slowly back to the Rohirric camp below._ _

__As they walked, hand in hand, they basked in the knowledge that this love of theirs and the strength of their union would be the only guide they needed to all their future actions._ _

____________________________________________  
FIN  
________________________________________ 


End file.
